THE 


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►NARI 

THE  UNIVERSITY  } 

E. 

1 

OF  ILLINOIS 

LIBRARY 

& 

F83lw 

BR  ^ 

cop.3  ' 

REMOTE  STORAGE 

tIDGED 

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RECOMMENDED  BY  THE  MOST  EMINENT  WRITERS. 

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Contains  Thousands  of  Words  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  Dictionary. 


"  Worcester's  is,  in  the  estimation  of  all  scholars,  the  best  dictionary  extant  for 
general  use.  There  is  certainly  no  real  comparison  possible  between  it  and  its  most 
popular  rival.  The  office  of  a  dictionary  is,  of  course,  not  to  make  innovations,  but 
simply  to  register  the  best  usage  in  spelling  and  pronunciation.  This  Worcester  does, 
and  this  its  rival  conspicuously  fails  to  do." — New  York  World. 

"  Years  ago  Worcester's  Dictionary  was  recognized,  in  England  as  well  as  in  the 
United  States,  as  the  best  in  existence  by  the  very  best  writers  and  students.  It  has  a 
still  higher  claim  to  this  distinction  in  this  new  edition,  which  makes  other  dictionaries 
superfluous,  and  serves  also  as  a  cyclopaedia;  a  text-book  on  the  language;  a  vocabu- 
lary of  Greek,  Latin,  Scriptural,  and  modern  proper  names;  a  collection  of  proverbs, 
phrases,  and  quotations  of  all  languages,  and  a  complete  collection  of  English  syno- 
nyines." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 


For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers. 

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715  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelphia 


OF.  THE 
IWiVERSITV  OF  iUJNOIS 


OF 


ISENJAMIN  FRANKLIN? 


WITH  MANY 


CHOICE  ANECDOTES 


AND 


DM  IRA  RLE  SAVINGS  OF  THIS  GREAT  MAN, 


NEVER  BEFORE  PUBLISHED  BY  ANY  OF  HIS  BIOGRAPHERS. 


BY  M.  1^.  WEEMS, 

AUTHOR  OF  THFi  LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON 


**  Sage  Franklin  next  arose  in  cheerful  mien, 
And  srmTd,  unruffled,  o'er  the  solemn  scene; 
High  on  his  locks  of  age  a  wreath  was  brac'd, 
Palm  of  all  arts  that  e'er  a  mortal  grac'd  ; 
Beneath  him  lay  the  sceptre  kings  had  borne, 
And  crowns  and  laurels  from  their  temples  torn.** 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 

1  883. 


REMOTE  STORAGE 


LIFE  OF  FRANKLIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 


DR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN,  president  of  thk 

AMERICAN  PHILOSOPHICAL  SOCIETY;  FELLOW  OF  THE  ROYAL 
SOCIETY  OF  EDINBURGH,  LONDON  AND  PARIS;  GOVERNOR  OP 
THE  STATE  OF  PENNSYLVANIA;  AND  MINISTER  PLENIPOTEN- 
TIARY FROM  THE  UNITED  STATES  TO  THE  COURT  OF  FRANCE, 

was  the  son  of  an  obscure  tallow-chandler  and  soap-boiler, 
of  Boston,  where  he  was  born  on  the  17th  day  of  January, 
1706. 

Some  men  carry  letters  of  recommendation  in  their  looks, 
and  some  in  their  names.  'Tis  the  lot  but  of  few  to  inherit 
both  of  these  advantages.  The  hero  of  this  work  was  one 
of  that  favoured  number.  As  to  his  physiognomy,  there 
was  in  it  such  an  air  of  wisdom  and  philanthropy,  and  con- 
sequently such  an  expression  of  majesty  and  sweetness,  as 
charms,  even  in  the  commonest  pictures  of  him.  And  for 
his  name,  every  one  acquainted  with  the  old  English  history, 
must  know,  that  Franklin  stands  for  what  we  now  mean  by 
'*  Gentleman,"  or  "clever  fellow." 

In  the  days  of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  their  neighbours  from 
the  continent  made  a  descent  "on  the  fast  anchored  isle," 
and  compelled  the  hardy,  red-ochred  natives  to  buckle  to 
their  yoke.  Among  the  victors  were  some  regiments  of 
Franks,  who  distinguished  themselves  by  their  valor,  and 
still  more  by  their  politeness  to  the  vanquished,  and  espe- 
cially to  the  females.  By  this  amiable  gallantry  the  Franks 
acquired  such  glory  among  the  brave  islanders,  that  when- 
ever any  of  their  own  people  achieved  any  thing  uncom- 
monly handsome,  he  was  called,  by  way  of  compliment,  a 
Franklin,  i.  e.  a  little  Frank.  As  the  living  flame  does 
not  more  naturally  tend  upwards  than  does  every  virtue  to 
exalt  its  possessors,  these  little  Franks  were  soon  promoted 
*o  be  great  men,  such  as  justices  of  the  peace,  knights  of  the 

1* 


679744 


6 


THE  LIFE  OF 


shire,  and  other  such  names  of  high  renown.  Hence  thost 
pretty  lines  of  the  old  poet  Chaucer — 

w  This  worthy  Franklin  wore  a  purse  of  silk 
Fix'd  to  his  girdle,  pure  as  morning  milk  ; 
Knight  of  the  shire;  h\st  justice  ot'th'  assize, 
To  help  the  poor,  the  doubtful  to  advise. 
In  ail  employments,  gen'rous  just  he  prov'd  ; 
Renown'd  for  courtesy  ;  by  all  belov'd." 

But  though,  according  to  Dr.  Franklin's  own  account  of 
nis  family,  whose  pedigree  he  looked  into  with  great  dili- 
gence while  he  was  in  England,  it  appears  that  they  were 
all  of  the  "well  born,"  or  gentlemen  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
word;  yet  they  did  not  deem  it  beneath  them  to  continue  the 
same  useful  courses  which  had  at  first  conferred  their  titles. 
On  the  contrary,  the  doctor  owns,  and  indeed  glories  in  it, 
that  for  three  hundred  years  the  eldest  son,  or  heir  apparent 
in  this  family  of  old  British  gentlemen,  was  invariably 
brought  up  a  blacksmith.  Moreover,  it  appears  from  the 
same  indubitable  authority,  that  the  blacksmith  succession 
was  most  religiously  continued  in  the  family  down  to  the 
days  of  the  doctor's  father.  How  it  has  gone  on  since  that 
time  I  have  never  heard;  but  considering  the  salutary  effects 
of  such  a  fashion  on  the  prosperity  of  a  young  republic,  it 
were  most  devoutly  to  be  wished  that  it  is  kept  up:  and  that 
the  family  of  one  of  the  greatest  men  who  ever  lived  in  this 
or  any  other  country,  still  display  in  their  coat  of  arms,  not 
the  barren  gules  and  garters  of  European  folly,  but  those 
better  ensigns  of  American  wisdom— the  sledge-hammer 
and  anvil. 

CHAPTER  II. 

1  Were  f  so  tall  to  reach  the  pole, 

And  grasp  the  ocean  in  my  span, 
I  must  he  measut'd  by  my  soul; 

For  'tis  the  MIND  that  makes  the  man." 

From  the  best  accounts  which  I  have  been  able  to  pick 
up,  it  would  appear  that  a  passion  for  learning  had  a  long 
run  in  the  family  of  the  Franklins.  Of  the  doctor's  three 
uncles,  the  elder,  whose  name  was  Thomas,  though  con 
scientiously  brought  up  a  blacksmith,  and  subsisting  his 
family  by  the  din  and  sweat  of  his  anvil,  was  still  a  great 
reader.  Instead  of  wasting  hi?  leisure  hours,  as  too  many 
of  the  trade  do,  in  tippling  and  tobacco,  he  acquired  enough 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


7 


of  the  law  to  render  himself  a  very  useful  and  leading  man 
among  the  people  of  Northampton,  where  his  forefathers  had 
lived  in  great  comfort  for  three  hundred  years,  on  thirty 
acres  of  land. 

His  uncle  Benjamin,  too,  another  old  English  gentleman 
of  the  right  stamp,  though  a  very  hard -working  man  at  the 
silk-dying  trade,  was  equally  devoted  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
mind.  lie  made  it  a  rule  whenever  he  lighted  on  a  copy 
of  verses  that  pleased  him,  to  transcribe  them  into  a  large 
blank  book  which  he  kept  for  the  purpose.  In  this  way  he 
collected  two  quarto  volumes  of  poems,  written  in  short 
hand  of  his  own  inventing.  And,  being  a  man  of  great 
piety,  and  fond  of  attending  the  best  preachers,  whose  ser- 
mons he  always  took  down,  he  collected  in  the  course  of  his 
life,  eight  volumes  of  sermons  in  folio,  besides  near  thirty 
in  quarto  and  octavo,  and  all  in  the  aforesaid  short  hand ! 
Astonishing  proof,  what  a  banquet  of  elegant  pleasures  even 
a  poor  mechanic  may  enjoy,  who  begins  early  to  read  and 
think !  'Tis  true,  he  was  a  long  time  about  it.  His  piety 
afforded  him  a  constant  cheerfulness.  And  deriving  from 
the  same  source  a  regular  temperance,  he  attained  to  a  great 
age.  In  his  seventy-third  year,  still  fresh  and  strong,  he 
left  his  native  country,  and  came  over  to  America,  to  see 
his  younger  brother  Josias,  between  whom  and  himself  there 
had  always  subsisted  a  more  than  ordinary  friendship.  On 
his  arrival  in  Boston,  he  was  received  with  unbounded  joy 
by  Josias,  who  pressed  him  to  spend  the  residue  of  his  days 
in  his  family.  To  this  proposition  the  old  gentleman  readily 
consented;  and  the  more  so  as  he  was  then  a  widower,  and 
his  children,  all  married  oft',  had  left  him.  He  had  the 
honor  to  give  his  name,  and  to  stand  godfather  to  our  little 
nero,  for  whom,  on  account  of  his  vivacity  and  fondness  for 
learning,  he  conceived  an  extraordinary  affection.  And 
Ben  always  took  a  great  delight  in  talking  of  this  uncle. 
Nor  was  it  to  be  wondered  at;  for  he  was  an  old  man  who 
wore  his  religion  very  much  to  win  young  people — -a  pleasant 
countenance — a  sweet  speech — and  a  fund  of  anecdotes 
always  entertaining,  and  generally  carrying  some  good  moral 
in  the  tail  of  them.  His  grandfather  before  him  must  have 
been  a  man  of  rare  humour,  as  appears  from  a  world  of  droll 
stories  which  uncle  Benjamin  used  to  tell  after  him,  and 
which  his  New  England  descendants  to  this  day  are  wont  to 
repeat  with  great  glee.  I  must  let  the  reader  hear  one  or 
two  of  them.   They  will  amuse  him,  by  showing  what  strange 


8 


THE  LIFE  OF 


things  were  done  in  days  of  yore  by  kings  and  priests  m 
the  land  of  our  venerable  forefathers. 

It  was  his  grandfather's  fortune  to  live  in  the  reign  of 
Queen  Mary,  whom  her  friends  called  holy  Mary,  but  her 
enemies  bloody  Mary.  In  the  grand  struggle  for  power  be- 
tween those  humble  followers  of  the  cross,  the  catholics  anf' 
the  protectants,  the  former  gained  the  victory,  for  which  ;Te 
Deums'  in  abundance  were  sung  throughout  the  land.  And 
having  been  sadly  rib-roasted  by  the  protestants  when  in 
power,  they  determined,  like  good  christians,  now  that  the 
tables  were  turned,  to  try  on  them  the  virtues  of  fire  and 
faggot.  The  Franklin  family  having  ever  been  sturdy  pro- 
testants, began  now  to  be  in  great  tribulation.  "  What 
shall  we  do  to  save  our  Bible?"  was  the  question.  After 
serious  consultation  in  a  family  caucus,  it  was  resolved  to 
hide  it  in  the  close-stool;  which  was  accordingly  done,  by 
fastening  it,  open,  on  the  under  side  of  the  lid  by  twine 
threads  drawn  strongly  across  the  leaves.  When  the  grand- 
father read  to  the  family,  he  turned  up  the  aforesaid  lid  on 
his  knees,  passing  the  leaves  of  his  Bible,  as  he  read,  from 
one  side  to  the  other.  One  of  the  children  was  carefully 
stationed  at  the  door,  to  give  notice  if  he  saw  the  priest,  or 
any  of  his  frowning  tribe,  draw  near.  In  that  event,  the  lid 
with  the  Bible  lashed  beneath  it,  was  instantly  clapped  down 
again  on  its  old  place. 

These  things  may  appear  strange  to  us,  who  live  under  a 
wise  republic,  which  will  not  suifer  the  black  gowns  of  one 
church  to  persecute  those  of  another.  But  they  were  com- 
mon in  those  dark  and  dismal  days,  when  the  clergy  thought 
more  of  creeds  than  of  Christ,  and  of  learning  Latin  than 
of  learning  love.  Queen  Mary  was  one  of  this  gnostic  ge- 
neration, (who  place  their  religion  in  the  head,  though  Christ 
places  it  in  the  heart,)  and  finding  it  much  easier  to  her 
unloving  spirit,  to  burn  human  beings  called  heretics,  than 
to  mortify  her  own  lust  of  popularity,  she  suffered  her  catho- 
lic to  fly  upon  and  worry  her  protestant  subjects  at  a  shame- 
ful  rate.  Good  old  uncle  Benjamin  use  .  to  divert  his  friends 
with  another  story,  which  happened  i  the  family  of  his  own 
aunt,  who  kept  an  inn  at  Eaton,  Northamptonshire. 

A  most  violent  priest,  of  the  name  of  Asquith,  who 
thought,  like  Saul,  that  he  should  be  doing  "  God  service" 
by  killing  the  heretics,  had  obtained  letters  patent  from 
queen  Mary  against  those  people  in  the  county  of  War- 
wick. On  his  way  he  called  to  dine  at  Eaton,  where  he  was; 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


9 


quickly  waited  on  by  the  mayor,  a  strong  catholic,  to  ask 
how  the  good  work  went  on.  Asquith,  leaping  to  his  sad- 
dle-bags, (hew  forth  a  little  box,  that  contained  his  commis- 
sion, which  he  flourished  before  the  mayor,  exclaiming  with 
high  glee,  "  Aye  I  there9 s  that  that  will  scorch  the  rogues!" 
Old  Mrs.  Franklin,  under  the  rose  a  sturdy  protestant,  over- 
hearing this,  was  exceedingly  troubled;  and  watching  her 
opportunity  when  the  priest  had  stepped  out  with  the  mayor, 
slipped  the  commission  out  of  the  box,  and  put  in  its  place 
a  pack  of  cards,  wrapped  in  the  same  paper.  The  priest 
returning  in  haste,  and  suspecting  no  trick,  huddled  up  his 
box,  and  posted  off  for  Coventry.  A  grand  council  of  the 
saints  was  speedily  convoked  to  meet  him.  He  arose,  and 
having  with  great  vehemence  delivered  a  set  speech  against 
the  heretics,  threw  his  commission  on  the  table  for  the  secre- 
tary to  read  aloud.  With  the  eyes  of  the  whole  council  on 
nim,  the  eager  secretary  opened  the  package,  when  in  place 
of  the  flaming  commission,  behold  a  pack  of  cards  with  the 
knave  of  clubs  turned  uppermost  !  A  sudden  stupefaction 
seized  the  spectators.  In  silence  they  stared  at  the  priest 
and  stared  at  one  another.  Some  looking  as  though  they 
suspected  treachery:  others  as  dreading  a  judgment  in  the 
case.  Soon  as  the  dumb-founded  priest  could  recover 
speech,  he  swore  by  the  Holy  Mary,  that  he  once  had  a 
commission;  that  he  had  received  it  from  the  queen's  own 
hand.  And  he  also  swore  that  he  would  get  another  com- 
mission. Accordingly  he  hurried  back  to  London,  and  having 
procured  another,  set  off  again  for  Coventry.  But  alas! 
before  be  got  down,  poor  queen  Mary  had  turned  the  coi- 
ner, and  the  protestants  under  Elizabeth  got  the  rule  again. 
Having  nothing  now  to  dread,  our  quizzing  old  hostess, 
Mrs.  Franklin,  came  out  with  the  knavish  trick  she  had  played 
the  priest,  which  so  pleased  the  protestants  of  Coventry 
that  they  presented  her  a  piece  of  plate,  that  cost  fifty  pounds 
sterling,  equal,  as  money  now  goes,  to  a  thousand  dollars. 

From  an  affair  which  soon  after  this  took  place  there,  it 
appears  that  Coventry,  however  famous  for  saints,  had  no 
great  cause  to  brag  of  her  poets. — When  queen  Elizabeth,  to 
gratify  her  subjects,  made  the  tour  of  her  island,  she  passed 
through  Coventry.  The  mayor,  aldermen,  and  company 
hearing  of  her  approach,  went  out  in  great  state  to  meet  her. 
The  queen  being  notified  that  they  wished  to  address  her, 
made  a  full  stop  right  opposite  to  a  stage  erected  for  the 
purpose,  and  covered  with  embroidered  cloth,  from  which  :% 


so 


THE  LIFE  OF 


ready  orator,  after  much  bowing  and  arms  full  extended, 
made  this  wondrous  speech — "  We  men  of  Coventry  are 
glad  to  see  your  royal  highness — Lord  how  fair  you  be!" 

To  this  the  maiden  queen,  equal  famed  for  fat  and  fun, 
rising  in  her  carriage,  and  waving  her  lily  white  hand,  made 
this  prompt  reply — "  Our  royal  highness  is  glad  to  se*i  you 
men  of  Coventry — Lord  what  Fools  you  be!" 

CHAPTER  III. 

Our  hero,  little  Ben,  coming  on  the  carpet — Put  to  school 
very  young — Learns  prodigiously — Taken  home  and  set 
to  candle-making — Curious  capers,  all  proclaiming  "the 
Achilles  in  petticoats. 99 

Dr.  Franklin's  father  married  early  in  his  own  country, 
and  would  probably  have  lived  and  died  there,  but  for  the 
persecutions  against  his  friends  the  Presbyterians,  which  so 
disgusted  him,  that  he  came  over  to  New  England,  and  set- 
tled in  Boston  about  the  year  1682.  He  brought  with  him 
his  English  wife  and  three  children.  By  the  same  wife  he 
had  four  children  more  in  America;  and  ten  others  after- 
wards by  an  American  wife.  The  doctor  speaks  with  plea- 
sure of  having  seen  thirteen  sitting  together  very  lovingly  at 
his  father9?  table,  dfid  all  married.  Our  little  hero,  who  was 
the  fifteenth  child,  and  last  of  the  sons,  was  born  at  Boston 
the  17th  day  of  January,  1706,  old  style. 

That  famous  Italian  proverb,  "  The  Devil  tempts  every 
man,  but  the  Idler  tempts  the  Devil,"  was  a  favourite  canto 
with  wise  old  Josias;  for  which  reason,  soon  as  their  little 
lips  could  well  lisp  letters  and  syllables,  he  had  them  all  to 
school. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  instance  with  regard  to  them, 
wherein  good  Josias .  "shamed  the  Devil;"  for  as  soon  as 
their  education  was  finished,  they  were  put  to  useful  trades. 
Thus  no  leisure  was  allowed  for  bad  company  and  habits. 
Little  Ben,  neatly  clad  and  comb'd,  was  pack'd  off  to  school 
with  the  rest;  and  as  would  seem,  at  a  very  early  age,  for 
he  says  himself  that,  "  he  could  not  recollect  any  time  in  his 
life  when  he  did  not  know  how  to  read,"  whence  we  may 
infer  that  he  hardly  ever  knew  any  thing  more  of  childhood 
than  its  innocency  and  playfulness.    At  the  age  of  eight  he 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


I  ! 


was  sent  to  a  grammar  school,  where  lie  made  such  a  figure 
in  learning,  that  his  good  old  father  set  him  down  at  one** 
lor  (he  church,  and  used  constantly  to  call  him  his  *  little  c/ufjj- 
fatft."  He  was  confirmed  in  this  design,  not  only  by  the  ex- 
traordinary readiness  with  which  he  learned,  but  also  by  the 
praises  of  his  friends,  who  all  agreed  that  he  would  certainly 
one  day  or  other  become  a  mighty  scholar-  His  uncle  Ben- 
jamin too,  greatly  approved  the  idea  of  making  a  preacher 
of  him:  and  by  way  of  encouragement,  promised  to  him  all 
his  volumes  of  sermons,  written,  as  before  saitl,  in  his  own 
short  hand. 

This  his  rapid  progress  in  learning  he  ascribed  very  much 
to  an  amiable  teacher  who  used  gentle  means  only,  to  en- 
courage his  scholars,  and  make  them  fond  of  their  books. 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  gay  career  in  his  learning,  when 
in  the  course  of  the  first  year  only,  he  had  risen  from  the 
middle  of  his  class  to  the  head  of  it;  thence  to  the  class  im- 
mediately above  it;  and  was  rapidly  overtaking  the  third 
class,  he  was  taken  from  school!  Mis  father  having  a  large 
family,  with  but  a  small  income,  and  thinking  himself  unable 
consistently  with  what  he  owed  the  rest  of  his  children,  to 
give  him  a  collegiate  education,  took  Ben  home  to  assist  him 
in  his  own  humble  occupation,  which  was  that  of  a  soap-boiler 
and  tallow-chandler;  a  trade  he  had  taken  up  of  his  own 
head  after  settling  in  Boston;  his  original  one  of  a  dyer  being 
in  too  little  request  to  maintain  his  family. 

I  have  never  heard  how  Ben  took  this  sudden  reverse  in 
his  prospects.  No  doubt  it  put  his  little  stock  of  philosophy 
to  the  stretch.  To  have  seen  himself,  one  day,  on  the  high 
road  to  literary  fame,  flying  from  class  to  class,  the  admira- 
tion and  envy  of  a  numerous  school;  and  the  next  day,  to  have 
found  himself  in  a  filthy  soap-shop;  clad  in  a  greasy  apron, 
twisting  cotton  wicks! — and  in  place  of  snuffing  the  sacred  I 
lamps  of  the  Muses,  to  be  bending  over  pots  of  fetid  tallow, 
dipping  and  moulding  candles  for  the  dirty  cook  wenches! 
Oh,  it  must  have  seem'd  a  sad  falling  off*!  Indeed,  it  ap- 
pears from  his  own  account  that  he  was  so  disgusted  with 
it  that  he  had  serious  thoughts  of  going  to  sea.  But  his  fa- 
ther objecting  to  it,  and  Ben  having  virtue  enough  to  be  du- 
tiful, the  notion  was  given  up  for  that  time.  But  the  am 
bition  which  had  made  him  the  first  at  his  school,  and  which 
now  would  have  hurried  him  to  sea,  was  not  to  be  extin- 
guished. Though  diverted  from  its  favourite  course,  it  still 
burned  for  distinction,  and  rendered  him  the  leader  of  the 


THE  LIFE  OK 


juvenile  band  in  every  enterprise  where  danger  was  to  bt« 
confronted,  or  glory  to  be  won.  In  the  neighbouring  mill- 
pond  he  was  the  foremost  to  lead  the  boys  to  plunge  and 
swim;  thus  teaching  them  an  early  mastery  over  that  dan- 
gerous  element.  And  when  the  ticklish  mill-boat  was  launch- 
ing from  the  shore  laden  with  his  timid  playmates,  the  pad- 
dle that  served  as  rudder,  was  always  put  into  his  hands,  as 
the  fittest  to  steer  her  course  over  the  dark  waters  of  the 
pond.  This  ascendancy  which  nature  had  given  him  over 
the  companions  of  his  youth,  was  not  always  so  well  used  as 
it  might  have  been.  He  honestly  confesses  that,  once  at 
least,  he  made  such  an  unlucky  use  of  it  as  drew  them  into 
a  scrape  that  cost  them  dear.  Their  favourite  fishing  shore 
on  that  pond  was,  it  seems,  very  miry.  To  remedy  so 
great  an  inconvenience  he  proposed  to  the  boys  to  make  a 
wharf.  Their  assent  was  quickly  obtained:  but  what  shall  we 
make  it  of?  was  the  question.  Ben  pointed  their  attention 
to  a  heap  of  stones,  hard  by,  of  which  certain  honest  ma- 
sous  were  building  a  house.  The  proposition  was  hailed  by 
the  boys,  as  a  grand  discovery;  and  soon  as  night  had  spread 
her  dark  curtains  around  them,  they  fell  to  work  with  the 
activity  of  young  beavers,  and  by  midnight  had  completed 
their  wharf.  The  next  morning  the  masons  came  to  work, 
but, behold!  not  a  stone  was  to  be  found !  The  young  rogues, 
however,  detected  by  the  track  of  their  feet  in  the  mud, 
were  quickly  summoned  before  their  parents,  who  not  being 
so  partial  to  Ben  as  they  had  been,  chastised  their  folly  with 
a  severe  flogging.  Good  old  Josias  pursued  a  different 
course  with  his  son.  To  deter  him  from  such  an  act  in  fu- 
ture, he  endeavoured  to  reason  him  into  a  sense  of  its  im- 
morality. Ben,  on  the  other  hand,  just  fresh  and  confident 
from  his  school,  took  the  field  of  argument  against  his  fa- 
ther, and  smartly  attempted  to  defend  what  he  had  done,  on 
the  principle  of  its  utility.  But  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  a 
great  adept  in  moral  philosophy,  calmly  observed  to  him, 
that  if  one  boy  were  to  make  use  of  this  plea  to  take  away 
his  fellow's  goods,  another  might;  and  thus  contests  would 
arise,  filling  the  world  with  blood  and  murder  without  end. 
Convinced,  in  this  simple  way,  of  the  fatal  consequences  of 
"  doing  evil  that  good  may  come, "  Ben  let  drop  the  weapons  of 
his  rebellion,  and  candidly  agreed  with  his  father  that  what 
was  not  strictly  honest  could  never  be  truly  useful.  This  dis- 
covery he  made  at  the  tender  age  of  nine.  Some  never  make 
*t  in  the  course  of  their  lives.    The  grand  angler,  Satan, 


Dft.  FRANKLIN. 


•  3 


throws  out  his  bail  of  immediate  gain  ;  and  they,  like  silly 
Jacks,  snap  at  i(  at  once;  and  in  the  moment  of  running  off, 
fancy  (hey  have  got  a  delicous  morsel.  Hut  alas!  the  fatal  nook 
soon  convinces  them  of  their  mistake,  though  sometimes  toe 
late.  Ami  then  the  lamentation  of  the  prophet  serves  as 
the  epilogue  of  their  tragedy — *<  ^Twas  honey  in  the  mouthy 
hut  gall  in  the  bowels. 99 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Picture  of  a  wise  father — To  which  is  added  a  famous  rt 
ceipt  for  health  and  long  life. 

The  reader  must  already  have  discovered  that  Ben  was* 
uncommonly  blest  in  a  father.  Indeed  from  the  portrait  oS 
him  drawn  by  this  grateful  son,  full  fifty  years  afterwards, 
he  must  have  been  an  enviable  old  man. 

As  to  his  person,  though  that  is  but  of  minor  consideration 
in  a  rational  creature — I  say,  as  to  his  person,  it  was  of 
the  right  standard,  i.  e.  medium  size  and  finely  formed — 
his  complexion  fair  and  ruddy — black,  intelligent  eyes — and 
an  air  uncommonly  graceful  and  spirited.  In  respect  of 
mind,  which  is  the  true  jewel  of  our  nature,  he  was  a  man 
of  the  purest  piety  and  morals,  and  consequently  cheerful 
and  amiable  in  a  high  degree.  Added  to  this,  he  possessed 
a  considerable  taste  for  the  fine  arts-  particularly  drawing 
and  music;  and  having  a  voice  remarkably  sonorous  and 
sweet,  whenever  he  sung  a  hymn  accompanied  with  his  vio- 
lin, which  lie  usually  did  at  the  close  of  his  day's  labours, 
it  was  delightful  to  hear  him.  He  possessed  also  an  extra- 
ordinary sagacity  in  things  relating  both  to  public  and  pri- 
vate life,  insomuch  that  not  only  individuals  were  constant- 
ly consulting  him  about  their  affairs,  and  calling  him  in  as  an 
arbiter  in  their  disputes;  but  even  the  leading  men  of  Bos- 
ton would  often  come  and  ask  his  advice  in  their  most  im- 
portant concerns,  as  well  of  the  town  as  of  the  church. 

For  his  slender  means  he  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  hos- 
pitality, which  caused  his  friends  to  wonder  how  he  made 
out  to  entertain  so  many.  But  whenever  this  was  mentioned 
to  him,  he  used  to  laugh  and  say,  that  the  world  was  good 
Matured  and  gave  him  credit  for  much  more  than  he  de- 

2 


[4 


THE  LIFE  OF 


served;  for  that,  in  fact,  others  entertained  ten  times  as 
many  as  he  did.  By  this,  'tis  thought  he  alluded  to  the  os- 
tentatious practice  common  with  some,  of  pointing  their 
hungry  visitant  to  their  grand  buildings,  and  boasting  how 
many  thousands  this  or  that  bauble  cost;  as  if  their  ridicu- 
lous vanity  would  pass  with  them  for  a  good  dinner.  For 
his  part,  he  said,  he  preferred  setting  before  his  visitors  a 
plenty  of  wholesome  fare,  with  a  hearty  welcome.  Though 
to  do  this  he  was  fain  to  work  hard,  and  content  himself 
with  a  small  house  and  plain  furniture.  But  it  was  always 
nis  opinion  that  a  little  laid  out  in  this  way,  went  farther 
both  with  God  and  man  too,  than  great  treasures  lavished  on 
pride  and  ostentation. 

But  though  he  delighted  in  hospitality  as  a  great  virtue, 
yet  he  always  made  choice  of  such  friends  at  his  table  as 
were  fond  of  rational  conversation.  And  he  took  great  care 
to  introduce  such  topics  as  would,  in  a  pleasant  manner, 
lead  to  ideas  useful  to  his  family,  both  in  temporal  and 
eternal  things.  As  to  the  dishes  that  were  served  up,  he  / 
never  talked  of  them;  never  discussed  whether  they  were 
well  or  ill  dressed;  of  a  good  or  bad  flavour,  high  seasoned  or 
otherwise. 

For  this  manly  kind  of  education  at  his  table,  Dr.  Frank- 
lin always  spoke  as  under  great  obligations  to- his  father's 
judgment  and  taste.  Thus  accustomed,  from  infancy,  to 
a  generous  inattention  to  the  palate,  he  became  so  perfectly 
indifferent  about  what  was  set  before  him,  that  he  hardly 
ever  remembered,  ten  minutes  after  dinner,  what  he  had 
dined  on.  In  travelling,  particularly,  he  found  his  account 
in  this.  For  while  those  who  had  been  more  nice  in  their 
diet  could  enjoy  nothing  they  met  with;  this  one  growling 
over  the  daintiest  breakfast  of  new  laid  eggs  and  toast  floated 
in  butter,  because  his  coffee  was  not  half  strong  enough! — 
that  wondering  what  people  can  mean  by  serving  up  a  round 
of  beef  when  they  have  no  mustard  1 — and  a  third  cursing 
like  a  trooper,  though  the  finest  rock-fish  or  sheep's-head  be 
smoking  on  the  table — because  there  is  no  walnut  pickle  or 
ketchup !  He  for  his  part,  happily  engaged  in  a  pleasant 
train  of  thinking  or  conversation,  never  attended  to  such 
trifles,  but  dined  heartily  on  whatever  was  set  before  him. 
In  short,  there  is  no  greater  kindness  that  a  young  man  can 
do  himself  than  to  learn  the  art  of  feasting  on  fish,  flesh,  or 
towl  as  they  come,  without  ever  troubling  his  head  about 
any  other  sauce  than  what  the  rich  hand  of  nature  has  given 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


15 


iet  him  but  bring  to  those  dishes  that  good  appetite  winch 
always  springs  from  exercise  and  cheerfulness,  and  he  will 
be  an  epicure  indeed. 

He  would  often  repeat  in  the  company  of  young  people, 
the  following  anecdote  which  he  had  picked  up  some  where 
or  other  in  his  extensive  reading.  "  A  wealthy  citizen  of 
Athens,  who  had  nearly  ruined  his  constitution  by  gluttony 
and  sloth,  was  advised  by  Hippocrates  to  visit  a  certain 
medicinal  spring  in  Sparta;  not  that  Hippocrates  believed 
that  spring  to  be  better  than  some  nearer  home;  but  exercise 
was  the  object — "  Visit  the  springs  of  Sparta,"  said  the 
great  physician.  As  the  young  debauchee,  pale  and  bloated, 
travelled  among  the  simple  and  hardy  Spartans,  he  called 
one  day  at  the  house  of  a  countryman  on  the  road  to  get 
something  to  eat.  A  young  woman  was  just  serving  up  din- 
ner— a  nice  barn-door  fowl  boiled  with  a  piece  of  fat  bacon. 
"  You  have  got  rather  a  plain  dinner  there  madam,"  growled 
the  Athenian.  "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  young  woman  blush- 
ing, "but  my  husband  will  be  here  directly,  and  he  always 
brings  the  sauce  with  him."  Presently  the  young  husband 
stepped  in,  and  after  welcoming  his  guest,  invited  him  to 
dinner.  "I  can't  dream  of  dining,  sir,  without  sauce,"  said 
the  Athenian,  "and  your  wife  promised  you  would  bring 
it."  "  O,  sir,  my  wife  is  a  wit,"  cried  the  Spartan;  "she 
only  meant  the  good  appetite  which  I  always  bring  with  mt 
from  the  barn,  where  1  have  been  threshing." 

And  here  I  beg  leave  to  wind  up  this  chapter  with  the 
following  beautiful  lines  from  Dryden,  which  1  trust  my 
young  reader  will  commit  to  memory.  They  may  save  him 
many  a  sick  stomach  and  headach,  besides  many  a  good 
dollar  in  doctor's  fees. 

"The  first  physicians  hy  debauch  were  made; 
Excess  began  and  sloth  sustains  the  trade. 
By  chace,  our  long  liv'd  fathers  earn'd  their  bread; 
Toil  strung  their  nerves  and  purified  their  blood: 
But  we,  their  sons,  a  pamper'd  race  of  men, 
Are  dwindled  down  to  threescore  years  and  ten 
Better  hunt  in  fields  for  health  nnbought, 
Than  fee  the  doctor  for  a  nauseous  draught. 
The  wise  for  health  on  exercise  depend : 
God  never  made  his  works  for  man  to  mend-'* 


£6 


THE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  V. 

Ben  continued  with  his  father,  assisting  him  in  his  humble 
toils,  till  his  twelfth  year;  and  had  he  possessed  a  mind  less 
active  might  have  remained  a  candle-maker  all  the  days  of 
his  life.  But  born  to  diffuse  a  light  beyond  that  of  tallow 
or  spermaceti,  he  could  never  reconcile  himself  to  this  in- 
ferior employment,  and  in  spite  of  his  wishes  to  conceal  it 
from  his  father,  discontent  would  still  lower  on  his  brow, 
and  the  half-suppressed  sigh  steal  in  secret  from  his  bosom. 

With  equal  grief  his  father  beheld  the  deep-seated  dis- 
quietude of  his  son.  He  loved  all  his  children;  but  he 
loved  this  young  one  above  all  the  rest.  Ben  was  the 
child  of  his  old  age.  The  smile  that  dimpled  his  tender 
cheeks  reminded  him  of  his  mother  when  he  first  saw 
her,  lovely  in  the  rosy  freshness  of  youth.  And  then 
his  intellect  was  so  far  beyond  his  years;  his  questions 
so  shrewd;  so  strong  in  reasoning;  so  witty  in  remark,  that 
his  father  would  often  forget  his  violin  of  nights  for  the 
higher  pleasure  of  holding  an  argument  with  him.  This  was 
a  great  trial  to  his  sisters,  who  would  often  intreat  their  mo- 
ther to  make  Ben  hold  his  tongue,  that  their  father  might 
take  down  his  fiddle,  and  play  and  sing  hymns  with  them: 
for  they  took  after  him  in  his  passion  for  music,  and  sung 
divinely.  No  wonder  that  such  a  child  should  be  dear  to 
such  a  father.  Indeed  old  Josias'  affection  for  Ben  was  so 
intimately  interwoven  with  every  fibre  of  his  heart,  that  he 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  separation  from  him;  and  various 
were  the  stratagems  which  he  employed  to  keep  this  dear 
child  at  home.  One  while,  to  frighten  his  youthful  fancy  from 
the  sea,  for  that  was  the  old  man's  dread,  he  would  paint 
the  horrors  of  the  watery  world,  where  the  maddening  bil- 
lows, lashed  into  mountains  by  the  storm,  would  lift  the 
trembling  ship  to  the  skies;  then  hurl  her  down,  headlong 
plunging  into  the  yawning  gulphs,  never  to  rise  again.  At  an- 
other time  he  would  describe  the  wearisomeness  of  beating  the 
gloomy  wave  for  joyless  months,  pent  up  in  a  small  ship,  with 
no  prospects  but  barren  sea  and  skies — no  smells  but  tar  and 
bilge  water — no  society  but  men  of  uncultivated  minds,  and 
their  constant  conversation  nothing  but  ribaldry  and  oaths. 
And  then  again  he  would  take  him  to  visit  the  masons, 
coopers,  joiners,  and  other  mechanics,  at  work:  in  hopes  that 
his  genius  might  be  caught,  and  a  stop  nut  to  his  passion  for 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


17 


wandering.  But  greatly  to  his  sorrow,  none  of  these  things 
hold  out  the  attractions  that  his  son  seemed  to  want.  His 
visits  among  these  tradesmen  were  not,  however,  without 
their  advantage.  He  caught  from  them,  as  he  somewhere 
says,  such  an  insight  into  mechanic  arts  and  the  use  of  tools, 
as  enabled  him  afterwards  when  there  was  no  artist  at  hand, 
to  make  for  himself  suitable  machines  for  the  illustration  of 
his  philosophical  experiments. 

But  it  was  not  long  before  this  obstinate  dislike  of  Ben's  to 
all  ordinary  pursuits  was  found  out;  it  was  found  out  by  his 
mother.  "  Bless  me,"  said  she  one  night  to  her  husband,  as 
he  lay  sleepless  and  sighing  on  his  son's  account,  "  why  do 
we  make  ourselves  so  unhappy  about  Ben  for  fear  he  should 
go  to  seal  let  him  but  go  to  school,  and  I'll  engage  we  hear 
no  more  about  his  running  to  sea.  Don't  you  see  the  child 
is  never  happy  but  when  he  has  a  book  in  his  hand  ?  Othei 
boys  when  they  get  a  little  money  never  think  of  any  thing 
better  to  lay  it  out  on  than  their  backs  or  their  bellies;  but 
he,  poor  fellow,  the  moment  that  he  gets  a  shilling,  runs  and 
gives  it  for  a  book;  and  then,  you  know,  there  is  no  getting 
him  to  his  meals  until  he  has  read  it  through,  and  told  us  all 
about  it." 

Good  old  Josias  listened  very  devoutly  to  his  wife,  while 
she  uttered  this  oration  on  his  youngest  son.  Then  with 
looks  as  of  a  heart  suddenly  relieved  from  a  heavy  burden, 
and  his  eyes  lifted  to  heaven,  he  fervently  exclaimed — "  O 
that  my  son,  even  my  little  son  Benjamin,  may  live  before 
God,  and  that  the  days  of  his  usefulness  and  glory  may  be 
many!" 

How  far  the  effectual  fervent  prayer  of  this  righteous  fa- 
ther found  acceptance  in  heaven,  the  reader  will  find  perhaps 
by  the  time  he  has  gone  through  our  little  book. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Ben  taken  from  school,  turns  his  own  teacher — History 
of  the  books  which  he  first  read — Is  bound  to  the  printing 
trade. 

At  a  learned  table  in  Paris,  where  Dr.  Franklin  happen* 
ed  to  dine,  it  was  asked  by  the  abbe  Raynal,  What  descrip 
tion  of  men  most  deserves  pity  ? 

2* 


18 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Some  mentioned  one  character,  and  some  another.  W  hen 
it  came  to  Franklin's  turn,  he  replied,  Ji  lonesome  man  in  a 
rainy  day,  who  does  not  know  how  to  read. 

As  every  thing  is  interesting  that  relates  to  one  who  made 
such  a  figure  in  the  world,  it  may  gratify  our  readers  to  be 
told  what  were  the  books  that  first  regaled  the  youthful  ap- 

Setite  of  the  great  Dr.  Franklin.  The  state  of  literature  in 
loston  at  that  time,  being  like  himself,  only  in  its  infancy, 
it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Ben  had  any  very  great  choice  of 
books.  Books,  however, there  always  were  in  Boston.*  Among 
these  was  Bunyan's  Voyages,  which  appears  to  have  been 
the  first  he  ever  read,  and  of  which  he  speaks  with  great 
pleasure.  But  there  is  reason  to  fear  that  Bunyan  did  no 
^ood:  for,  as  it  was  the  reading  of  the  life  of  Alexander  the 
Great  that  first  set  Charles  the  Twelfth  in  such  a  fever  to 
be  running  over  the  world  killing  every  body  he  met;  so,  in 
all  probability,  it  was  Bunyan's  Voyages  that  fired  Ben's 
fancy  with  that  passion  for  travelling,  which  gave  his  father 
so  much  uneasiness.  Having  read  over  old  Bunyan  so  often 
as  to  have  him  almost  by  heart,  Ben  added  a  little  boot,  and 
made  a  swap  of  him  for  Burton's  Historical  Miscellanies. 
This,  consisting  of  forty  or  fifty  volumes,  held  him  a  good 
long  tug:  for  he  had  no  time  to  read  but  on  Sundays,  and 
early  in  the  morning  or  late  at  night.  After  this  he  fell 
upon  his  father's  library.  This  being  made  up  principally 
of  old  puritanical  divinity,  would  to  most  boys  have  ap- 
peared like  the  pillars  of  Hercules  to  travellers  of  old — a 
bound  not  to  be  passed.  But  so  keen  was  Ben's  appetite 
for  any  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  book,  that  he  fell  upon  it  with 
his  usual  voracity,  and  soon  devoured  every  thing  in  it, 
especially  of  the  lighter  sort.  Seeing  a  little  bundle  of 
something  crammed  away  very  snugly  upon  an  upper  shelf, 
his  curiosity  led  him  to  take  it  down:  and  lo!  what  should 
it  be  but  "  Plutarch's  Lives."  Ben  was  a  stranger  to  the 
work;  but  the  title  alone  was  enough  for  him;  he  instantly 
gave  it  one  reading;  and  then  a  second,  and  a  third,  and  so  on 
sintil  he  had  almost  committed  it  to  memory;  and  to  his  dy- 
ing day  he  never  mentioned  the  name  of  Plutarch  without 
cknowledging  how  much  pleasure  and  profit  he  had  derived 
from  that  divine  old  writer.  And  there  was  another  book, 
by  Defoe,  a  small  affair,  entitled  "  Jin  Essay  on  Projects,*' 
to  which  he  pays  the  very  high  compliment  of  saying,  tha* 


*  You  never  find  presbyteriana  without  booka. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


10 


"from  it  he  received  impressions  which  influenced  some  of 
the  principal  events  of  his  life." 

Happy  now  to  find  that  books  had  the  charm  to  keep  his 
darling  boy  at  home,  and  thinking  that  if  he  were  put  into  a 
printing  office  he  would  be  sure  to  get  books  enough,  his  fa- 
ther determined  to  make  a  printer  of  him,  though  he  already 
had  a  son  in  that  business.  Exactly  to  his  wishes,  that  son, 
whose  name  was  James,  had  just  returned  from  London 
with  a  new  press  and  types.  Accordingly,  without  loss  of 
time,  Ben,  now  in  his  twelfth  year,  was  bound  apprentice 
to  him.  By  the  indentures  Ben  was  to  serve  his  brother  til) 
twenty-one,  i.  e.  nine  full  years,  without  receiving  one 
penny  of  wages  save  for  the  last  twelve  months!  How  a 
man  pretending  to  religion  could  reconcile  it  to  himself  to 
make  so  hard  a  bargain  with  a  younger  brother,  is  strange. 
•But  perhaps  it  was  permitted  of  God,  that  Ben  should  learn 
his  ideas  of  oppression,  not  from  reading  but  from  suffering. 
The  deliverers  of  mankind  have  all  been  made  perfect 
through  suffering.  And  to  the  galling  sense  of  this  villanous 
oppression,  which  never  ceased  to  rankle  on  the  mind  of 
Franklin,  the  American  people  owe  much  of  that  spirited 
resistance  to  British  injustice,  which  eventuated  in  their 
liberties.  But  Master  James  had  no  great  cause  to  boast  of 
this  selfish  treatment  of  his  younger  brother  Benjamin;  fot 
the  old  adage  "foul  play  never  thrives,"  was  hardly  ever 
more  remarkably  illustrated  than  in  this  affair,  as  the  reader 
will  in  due  season  be  brought  to  understand. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Ben  in  clover — Turns  a  Rhymer — Makes  a  prodigious  noise 
in  Boston — Bit  by  the  Poetic  Tarantula — Luckily  cured 
by  his  father. 

Ben  is  now  happy.  He  is  placed  by  the  side  of  the  press, 
the  very  mint  and  coining  place  of  his  beloved  books;  and 
animated  by  that  delight  which  he  takes  in  his  business,  he 
makes  a  proficiency  equally  surprising  and  profitable  to  his 
brother.  The  field  of  his  reading  too  is  now  greatly  enlarges. 
From  the  booksellers'  boys  he  makes  shift,  every  now  aid 
then,  to  borrow  a  book,  which  he  never  fails  to  return  at 


20 


THE  LIFE  OF 


the  promised  time:  though  to  accomplish  this  h<*  was  often 
obliged  to  sit  up  till  midnight,  reading  by  his  bed  side,  that 
he  might  be  as  good  as  his  word. 

Such  an  extraordinary  passion  for  learning  soon  com- 
mended him  to  the  notice  of  his  neighbours,  among  whom 
was  an  ingenious  young  man,  a  tradesman,  named  Matthew 
Adams,  who  invited  him  to  his  house,  showed  him  all  his 
books,  and  offered  to  lend  him  any  that  he  wished  to  read. 

About  this  time,  which  was  somewhere  in  his  thirteenth 
year,  Ben  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  could  write  poetry : 
and  actually  composed  several  little  pieces.  These,  after  some 
hesitation,  he  showed  to  his  brother,  who  pronounced  them 
excellent;  and  thinking  that  money  might  be  made  by  Ben's 
poetry,  pressed  him  to  cultivate  his  wonderful  talent,  as 
he  called  it;  and  even  gave  him  a  couple  of  subjects  to  write 
on.  The  one,  which  was  to  be  called  the  Light-house 
Tragedy,  was  to  narrate  the  late  shipwreck  of  a  sea  cap- 
tain and  his  two  daughters:  and  the  other  was  to  be  a  sai- 
lor's song  on  the  noted  pirate  Blackbeard,  who  had  been 
recently  killed  on  the  coast  of  North  Carolina,  Dy  Captain 
Maynard,  of  a  British  sloop  of  war. 

Ben  accordingly  fell  to  work,  and  after  burning  out  seve- 
ral candles,  for  his  brother  could  not  afford  to  let  him  write 
poetry  by  daylight,  he  produced  his  two  poems.  His  bro- 
ther extolled  them  to  the  skies,  and  in  all  haste  had  them 
put  to  the  type  and  struck  off";  to  expedite  matters,  fast  as 
the  sheets  could  be  snatched  from  the  press,  all  hands  were 
set  to  work,  folding  and  stitching  them  ready  for  market; 
while  nothing  was  to  be  heard  throughout  the  office  but  con- 
stant calls  on  the  boys  at  press — "  more  sheets  ho  !  more 
Light-house  tragedy  !  more  Blackbeard ."'  But  who  can  tell 
what  Ben  felt  when  he  saw  his  brother  and  all  his  journey- 
men in  such  a  bustle  on  his  account — and  when  he  saw, 
wherever  he  cast  his  eyes,  the  splendid  trophies  of  his  ge- 
nius scattered  on  the  floor  and  tables;  some  in  common  pa- 
per for  the  multitude;  and  others  in  snow-white  foolscap, 
for  presents  to  the  great  people,  such  as  "  His  excellency 

THE  GOVERNOR."  "The  HON.  THE  SECRETARY  OF  STATE."  

"The  Worshipful  the  mayor." — 66  The  aldermen,  and 
gentlemen  of  the  council. "— 66  The  reverend  the  clergy, 
&c."  Ben  could  never  tire  of  gazing  at  them;  and  as  he 
gazed,  his  heart  would  leap  for  joy—"  O  you  precious  little 
verses,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  Ye  first  warblings  of  my 
youthful  harp  1  Pll  soon  have  you  abroad,  delighting  every 


DR.  FRANKLTN. 


21 


company )  and  filling  all  months  with  my  name!"  According- 
ly, his  two  poems  being  ready,  Ben,  who  had  been  both  poet 
and  printer,  with  a  basket  full  of  each  on  his  arm,  set  out  in 
high  spirits  to  sell  them  through  the  town,  which  he  did  by  sing- 
ing out  as  he  went,  after  the  maimer  of  the  London  cries — 

"Choice  Poetry!  Choice  Po-e-try  ! 
Come  BUY  my  choice  Po-e-try!" 

The  people  of  Boston  having  never  heard  any  such  cry 
as  that  before,  were  prodigiously  at  a  loss  to  know  what  he 
was  selling.    But  still  Ben  went  on  singing  out  as  before, 

" Choice  Poetry!  Choice  Poetry! 
Come,  buy  my  choice  Poetry!" 

I  wonder  now,  said  one  with  a  stare,  if  it  is  not  poultry 
that  that  little  boy  is  singing  out  so  stoutly  yonder. 

0  no,  I  guess  not,  said  a  second. 

Well  then,  cried  a  third,  1  vow  but  it  must  be  pastry. 
At  length  Ben  was  called  up  and  interrogated. 
"  Pray,  my  little  man,  and  what's  that  that  you  are  crying 
there  so  bravely?" 

Ben  told  them  it  was  poetry. 

"  O !— aye! poetry /"  said  they;  "poetry!  that's  a  sort  of 
something  or  other  in  metre — like  the  old  version,  is  n't  it  ?" 

O  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  they  all,  "  it  must  be  like  the 
old  version,  if  it  is  poetry ;"  and  thereupon  they  stared  at 
him,  marvelling  hugely  that  a  "  little  curly  headed  boy  like 
him  should  be  selling  such  a  wonderful  thing!"  This  made 
Ben  hug  himself  still  more  on  account  of  his  poetry. 

1  have  never  been  able  to  get  a  sight  of  the  ballad  of  the 
Light-house  Tragedy,  which  must  no  doubt  have  been  a 
great  curiosity:  but  the  sailor's  song  on  Blackbeard  runs 
thus — 

"  Come  all  you  jolly  sailors, 

You  all  so  stout  ano  brave; 
Come  hearken  and  I'll  tell  you 

What  happenM  on  the  wave. 
Oh!  'tis  of  that  hloody  Rlackbeard 

I'm  going  now  for  to  tell ; 
And  as  how  by  gallant  Maynard 

He  soon  was  sent  to  hell — 

With  a  down,  down,  down  derry  down.*' 

The  reader  will,  I  suppose,  agree  with  Ben  in  his  criti- 
cism, many  years  afterwards,  on  this  poetry,  that  it  was 
"  wretched  stuff;  mere  blind  men's  ditties. "  But  fortunately 
for  Ben,  the  poor  people  of  Boston  were  at  that  time  no 


22  THE  LIFE  OF 

judges  of  poetry.  The  silver-tongued  Watts  had  not,  as 
yet,  snatched  the  harp  of  Zion,  and  poured  his  divine  songs 
over  New-England.  And  having  never  been  accustomed  to 
any  thing  better  than  an  old  version  of  David's  Psalms, 
running  in  this  way— 

"  Ye  monsters  of  the  bubbling  deep, 

Your  Maker's  praises  spout ! 
Up  from  your  sands  ye  codlings  peep, 

And  wag  your  tails  about." — 

The  people  of  Boston  pronounced  Ben's  poetry  mighty  fine, 
and  bought  them  up  at  a  prodigious  rate;  especially  the 
Light-house  Tragedy. 

A  flood  of  success  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  would  in 
all  probability  have  turned  Ben's  brain  and  run  him  stark 
mad  with  vanity,  had  not  his  wise  old  father  timely  stepped 
in  and  checked  the  rising  fever.  But  highly  as  Ben  hon- 
oured his  father,  and  respected  his  judgment,  he  could  hardly 
brook  to  hear  him  attack  his  beloved  poetry,  as  he  did,  calling 
it  "mere  Grub-street."  And  he  even  held  a  stiff  argument 
in  defence  of  it.  But  on  reading  a  volume  of  Pope,  which 
his  father,  who  well  knew  the  force  of  contrast,  put  into  his 
hand  for  that  purpose,  he  never  again  opened  his  mouth  in 
behalf  of  his  "blind  men's  ditties."  He  used  to  laugh  and 
say,  that  after  reading  Pope,  he  was  so  mortified  with  his 
Light-house  Tragedy,  and  Sailor's  Song,  which  he  had  once 
thought  so  fine,  that  he  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  them,  but 
constantly  threw  into  the  fire  every  copy  that  fell  in  his  way. 
Thus  was  he  timely  saved,  as  he  ingenuously  confesses,  from 
the  very  great  misfortune  of  being,  perhaps,  a  miserable 
jingler  for  life. 

But  I  cannot  let  fall  the  curtain  on  this  curious  chapter, 
without  once  more  feasting  my  eyes  on  Ben,  as,  with  a 
little  basket  on  his  arm,  he  trudged  along  the  streets  of  Bos- 
ton crying  his  poetry. 

Who  that  saw  the  youthful  David  coming  up  fresh  from 
his  father's  sheep  cots,  with  his  locks  wet  with  the  dews  of 
the  morning,  and  his  cheeks  ruddy  as  the  opening  rose-buds, 
would  have  dreamed  that  this  was  he  who  should  one  day, 
single  handed,  meet  the  giant  Goliah,  in  the  war-darkened  val- 
ley of  Elah,  and  wipe  off  reproach  from  Israel.  In  like  man- 
ner, who  that  saw  this  "  curly  headed  child,"  at  the  tender 
age  of  thirteen,  selling  his  "blind  men's  ditties,"  among  the 
wonder-struck  Jonathans  and  Jemimas  of  Boston,  would  have 
thought  that  this  was  he,  who,  single  handed,  was  to  meet 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


23 


the  British  ministry  at  the  bar  of  their  own  house  of  Com- 
mons, and  by  the  solar  blaze  of  his  wisdom,  utterly  disperse 
all  (heir  dark  designs  against  their  countrymen,  thus  gaining 
for  himself  a  name  lasting  as  time,  and  dear  to  liberty  as  the 
name  of  Washington. 

O  you  time-wasting,  brain-starving  young  men,  who  can 
never  be  at  ease  unless  you  have  a  cigar  or  a  plug  of  tobacco 
in  your  mouths,  go  on  with  your  puffing  and  champing — go 
on  with  your  filthy  smoking,  and  your  still  more  filthy  spit- 
ting, keeping  the  cleanly  house-wives  in  constant  tenor  for 
their  nicely  waxed  floors,  and  their  shining  carpets — go  on 
I  say;  but  remember  it  was  not  in  this  way  that  our  little 
Ben  became  the  GREAT  DR.  FRANKLIN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

'Tis  the  character  of  a  great  mind  never  to  despair. 
Though  glory  may  not  be  gained  in  one  way,  it  may  in  an- 
other. As  a  river,  if  it  meet  a  mountain  in  its  course,  does 
not  halt  and  poison  all  the  country  by  stagnation,  but  rolls 
its  gathering  forces  around  the  obstacle,  urging  its  precious 
tides  and  treasures  through  distant  lands.  So  it  was  with 
the  restless  genius  of  young  Franklin.  Finding  that  nature 
had  never  cut  him  out  for  a  poet,  he  determined  to  take  re- 
venge on  her  by  making  himself  a  good  prose  writer.  As  it  is 
in  this  way  that  his  pen  has  conferred  great  obligations  on  the 
world,  it  must  be  gratifying  to  learn  by  what  means,  humbly 
circumstanced  as  he  was,  he  acquired  that  perspicuity  and 
ease  so  remarkable  in  his  writings.  This  information  must 
be  peculiarly  acceptable  to  such  youth  as  are  apt  to  despair 
of  becoming  good  writers,  because  they  have  never  been 
taught  the  languages.  Ben's  example  will  soon  convince 
them  that  Latin  and  Greek  are  not  necessary  to  make  En- 
glish scholars.  Let  them  but  commence  with  his  passion 
for  knowledge;  with  his  firm  persuasion,  that  wisdom  is  the 
glory  and  happiness  of  man,  and  the  work  is  more  than 
half  done. 

Honest  Ben  never  courted  a  young  man  because  he  was 
rich,  or  the  son  of  the  rich — No.  His  favourites  were  of  the 
youth  fond  of  reading  and  of  rational  conversation,  no  matter 
now  poor  they  were.  "  Birds  of  a  feather  do  not  more  natu- 
rally jlock  together,"  th&n  do  young  men  of  this  high  character. 


24 


THE  LIFE  OF 


This  was  what  first  attracted  to  him  that  ingenious  young 
carpenter,  Matthew  Adams:  as  also  John  Collins,  the  tan- 
ner's boy.  These  three  spirited  youth,  after  finding  each 
other  out,  became  as  fond  as  brothers.  And  often  as  pos- 
sible, when  the  labours  of  the  day  were  ended,  they  would 
meet  at  a  little  school-house  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  argue 
on  some  given  subject  till  midnight.  The  advantages  of 
this  as  a  grand  mean  of  exercising  memory,  strengthening 
the  reasoning  faculty,  disciplining  the  thoughts,  and  im- 
proving a  correct  and  graceful  elocution,  became  daily  more 
obvious  and  important  in  their  view,  and  consequently  in- 
creased their  mutual  attachment.  But  from  his  own  obser- 
vation of  what  passed  in  this  curious  little  society,  Ben 
cautions  young  men  against  that  war  of  words,  which  the 
vain  are  too  apt  to  fall  into,  and  which  tends  not  only  to 
make  them  insupportably  disagreeable  through  a  disputatious 
spirit,  but  is  apt  also  to  betray  into  a  fondness  for  quizzing, 
i.  e.  for  asserting  and  supporting  opinions  which  they  do  not 
themselves  believe.  He  gives  the  following  as  a  case  in  point. 

Qno  viight,  Adams  being  absent,  and  only  himself  and 
Collins*  together  in  the  old  school-house,  Ben  observed  that 
ne  thought  it  a  great  pity  that  the  young  ladies  were  not 
more  attended  to,  as  to  the  improvement  of  their  minds  by 
education.  He  said,  that  with  their  advantages  of  sweet 
voices  and  beautiful  faces,  they  could  give  tenfold  charms 
to  wit  and  sensible  conversation,  making  heavenly  truths  to 
appear,  as  he  had  somewhere  read  in  his  father's  old  Bible, 
46  like  apples  of  gold  set  in  pictures  of  silver." 

Collins  Mowed  upon  the  idea.  He  said,  it  was  all  stuff, 
and  no  pity  at  all,  that  the  girls  were  so  neglected  in  their 
education,  as  they  were  naturally  incapable  of  it.  And  here 
he  repeated,  laughing,  that  infamous  slur  on  the  ladies, 

"  Substance  too  soft  a  lasting  mind  to  bear, 
And  best  distinguish'd  by  black,  brown,  or  fair." 

At  this,  Ben,  who  was  already  getting  to  be  a  great  ad- 
mirer of  the  ladies,  reddened  up  against  Collins;  and  to  it 
they  fell,  at  once,  in  a  stiff  argument  on  the  education  of 
women — as  whether  they  were  capable  of  studying  the 
sciences  or  not  Collins,  as  we  have  seen,  led  off'  against 
the  ladies.  Being  much  of  an  infidel,  he  took  the  Turkish 
ground  altogether,  and  argued  like  one  just  soured  and  sul- 
len from  the  seraglio.  Women  study  the  sciences  indeed! 
Baid  he,  with  a  sneer;  a  pretty  story  truly  !  no  sir,  they  have 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


25 


nothing  to  do  with  the  sciences.  They  were  not  born  for  any 
such  thing. 

Ben  wanted  *to  know  what  they  were  born  for? 

Born  for!  retorted  Collins,  wiry  to  dress  and  dance;  to 
sing  and  play  ;  and,  like  pretty  triilers,  to  divert  the  lords  of 
the  creation,  after  their  toils  and  studies.  This  is  all  they 
were  born  for,  or  ever  intended  of  nature,  who  has  given 
them  capacities  for  nothing  higher.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
they  look  grave,  and  fall  into  such  brown  studies  as  would 
lead  one  to  suppose  they  meant  to  go  deep;  but  it  is  all 
fudge.  They  are  only  trying  in  this  new  character  to  play 
themselves  oft*  to  a  better  effect  on  their  lovers.  And  if  you 
could  but  penetrate  the  bosoms  of  these  fair  Penserosoes; 
you  would  find  that  under  all  this  affectation  of  study  they 
were  only  fatiguing  their  childish  brains  about  what  dress 
they  should  wear  to  the  next  ball:  or  what  coloured  ribands 
would  best  suit  their  new  lutestrings. 

To  this  Ben  replied  with  warmth,  that  it  was  extremely 
unphilosophical  in  Mr.  Collins  to  argue  in  that  way  against 
the  fair  sex — that  in  fixing  their  destination  he  had  by  no 
means  given  them  that  high  ground  to  which  they  were  en- 
titled. You  say,  sir,  continued  Ben,  that  the  ladies  were 
created  to  amuse  the  men  by  the  charm  of  their  vivacity  and 
accomplishments.  This  to  be  sure  was  saying  something. 
But  vou  might,  I  think,  have  said  a  great  deal  more;  at  least 
the  Bible  says  a  great  deal  more  for  them.  The  Bible,  sir, 
tells  us  that  God  created  woman  to  be  the  helpmate  of  man. 
Now  if  man  were  devoid  of  reason  he  might  be  well  enough 
matched  by  such  a  monkey -like  helpmate  as  you  have  de- 
scribed woman.  But,  sir,  since  man  is  a  noble  God-like 
creature,  endued  with  the  sublime  capacities  of  reason,  how 
could  woman  ever  make  a  helpmate  to  him,  unless  she  were 
rational  like  himself,  and  thus  capable  of  being  the  com- 
panion of  his  thoughts  and  conversation  through  all  *he  oiea- 
sant  fields  of  knowledge? 

Here  Collins  interrupted  him,  asking  very  sarcastically, 
if  in  this  fine  flourish  in  favour  of  the  ladies  he  was  really  in 
earnest. 

Never  more  so  in  all  my  life,  replied  Ben,  rather  nettled. 

What,  that  the  women  are  as  capable  of  studying  the 
sciences  as  the  men? 

Yes,  that  the  women  are  as  capable  of  studying  the 
sciences  as  the  men. 

And  pray,  sir,  continued  Collins,  tauntingly,  do  you  know 
3 


26 


THE  LIFE  OF 


of  any  young  woman  of  jour  acquaintance  that  would  make 
a  Newton? 

And  pray,  sir,  answered  Ben,  do  you  know  any  young 
man  of  your  acquaintance  that  would?  But  these  are  no 
arguments,  sir, — because  it  is  not  every  young  man  or 
woman  that  can  carry  the  science  of  astronomy  so  high  as 
Newton,  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  incapable  of  the 
science  altogether.  God  sees  fit  in  every  age  to  appoint  certain 
persons  to  Kindle  new  lights  among  men. — And  Newton 
was  appointed  greatly  to  enlarge  our  views  of  celestial  ob- 
jects. But  we  are  not  thence  to  infer  that  he  was  in  all 
respects  superior  to  other  men,  for  we  are  told  that  in  some 
instances  he  was  far  inferior  to  other  men.  Collins  denied 
lhat  Newton  had  ever  shown  himself,  in  any  point  of  wit 
inferior  to  other  men. 

No,  indeed,  replied  Ben;  well  what  do  you  think  of  that 
Anecdote  of  him,  lately  published  in  the  New  England  Cou- 
rant  from  a  London  paper? 

And  pray  what  is  the  anecdote?  asked  Collins. 

Why  it  is  to  this  effect,  said  Ben. — Newton,  mounted  on 
iie  wings  of  astronomy,  and  gazing  at  the  mighty  orbs  of 
**re  above,  had  entirely  forgotten  the  poor  little  fire  that 
Numbered  on  his  own  hearth  below,  which  presently  forgot 
him,  that  is  in  plain  English,  went  out.  The  frost  piercing 
his  nerves,  called  his  thoughts  home,  when  lo!  in  place  of 
the  spacious  skies,  the  gorgeous  antichamber  of  the  Almigh- 
ty, he  found  himself  in  his  own  little  nut-shell  apartment, 
cold  and  dark,  comparatively,  as  the  dwelling  of  the  winter 
screech-owl.  He  rung  the  bell  for  his  servant,  who  after 
making  a  rousing  fire,  went  out  again.  But  scarcely  had 
the  servant  recovered  his  warm  corner  in  the  kitchen,  before 
the  vile  bell,  with  a  most  furious  ring,  summoned  him  the 
second  time.  The  servant  flew  into  his  master's  presence. 
Monster  I  cried  Newton  with  a  face  inflamed  as  if  it  had 
been  toasting  at  the  tail  of  one  of  his  comets,  did  you  mean 
to  burn  me  alive  ?  push  back  the  fire  !  for  God's  sake  push 
back  the  fire,  or  I  shall  be  a  cinder  in  an  instant ! 

Push  back  the  fire!  replied  the  servant  with  a  growl 
zounds,  sir,  I  thought  you  might  have  had  sense  enough  to 
push  back  your  chair! 

Collins  swore  that  it  was  only  a  libel  against  Sir  Isaac. 

Ben  contended  that  he  had  seen  it  in  so  many  different 
publications,  that  he  had  no  sort  of  doubt  of  its  truth;  espe- 
cially as  Sir  Hans  Sloan  had  backed  it  with  another  anec- 


DR.  FRANKLTN. 


27 


dote  of  Newton,  in  the  same  style;  and  to  which  lie  avers 
he  was  both  eye  and  ear  witness. 

And  pray  what  has  that  butterfly  philosopher  to  say  against 
the  immortal  Newton?  asked  Collins,  quite  angrily. 

Why,  replied  Ben,  it  is  this:  Sloan,  stepping  in  one  day, 
fo  see  Sir  Isaac,  was  told  by  his  servant  that  he  was  up  in 
his  study,  but  would  be  down  immediately;  for  there,  sir, 
you  see  is  his  dinner,  which  I  have  just  set  on  the  table. — It 
was  a  pheasant  so  neatly  browned  in  the  roasting,  and  withal 
so  plump  and  inviting  to  the  eye,  that  Sloan  could  not  resist 
the  temptation;  but  venturing  on  his  great  intimacy  with  the 
knight,  sat  down  and  picked  the  delicious  bird  to  the  bone; 
having  desired  the  cook  in  all  haste  to  clap  another  to  the 
spit.  Presently  down  came  Sir  Isaac — was  very  glad  to 
see  his  friend  Sloan — how  had  he  been  all  this  time?  and  how 
did  he  leave  his  good  lady  and  family?  you  have  not  dined  ? 

No. 

Very  glad  of  it  indeed  ;  very  glad.  Well  then,  come  dine 
with  me. — Turning  to  the  table,  he  sees  the  dish  empty,  and 
his  plate  strewed  with  the  bones  of  his  favourite  pheasant. 
— Lord  bless  me!  he  exclaimed,  clasping  his  forehead,  and 
looking  betwixt  laughing  and  blushing,  at  Sloan — what  am 
I  good  for  ?  I  have  dined,  as  you  see,  my  dear  friend,  and  yet 
I  had  entirely  forgot  it  I 

I  don't  believe  a  syllable  of  it,  said  Collins;  not  one  sylla- 
ble of  it,  sir. 

No,  replied  Ben;  nor  one  syllable,  1  suppose,  of  his  fa- 
mous courtship,  when  sitting  by  an  elegant  young  lady, 
whom  his  friends  wished  him  to  make  love  to,  he  seized  her 
lily  white  hand.  But  instead  of  pressing  it  with  rapture  to 
his  bosom,  he  thrust  it  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  that  he  was 
smoking;  thus  making  a  tobacco  stopper  of  one  of  the  love- 
liest fingers  in  England;  to  the  inexpressible  mortification 
of  the  company,  and  to  the  most  dismal  scolding  and  scream- 
ing of  the  dear  creature! 

'Tis  all  a  lie,  sir,  said  Collins,  getting  quite  mad,  all  a 
confounded  lie.  The  immortal  Newton,  sir,  was  never 
capable  ot  acting  so  much  like  a  blockhead.  But  supposing 
all  this  slang  to  be  true,  what  would  you  infer  from  it, 
against  that  prince  of  philosophy? — Why  I  would  infer  from 
it.  replied  Ben,  that  though  a  great  man,  he  was  but  a  man. 
And  I  would  also  infer  from  it  in  favour  of  my  fair  clients, 
that  though  they  did  not  make  Sir  Isaac's  discoveries  in 
astronomy,  they  are  yet  very  capable  of  comprehending 


28 


THE  LIFE  OF 


them.  And  besides,  I  am  astonished,  Mr.  Collins,  how  any 
gentleman  that  loves  himself,  as  I  know  you  do,  can  thus 
traduce  the  ladies.  Don't  you  consider,  sir,  that  in  propor- 
tion as  you  lessen  the  dignity  of  the  ladies,  you  lessen  the 
dignity  of  your  affections  for  them,  and  consequently,  your 
own  happiness  in  them,  which  must  for  ever  keep  pace  with 
your  ideas  of  their  excellence.— This  was  certainly  a  home 
thrust:  and  most  readers  would  suppose,  that  Ben  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  crow  over  Ins  antagonist;  but,  Collins  was  a 
young  man  of  too  much  pride  and  talents  to  give  up  so  easi- 
ly. A  spirited  retort,  of  course,  was  made;  a  rejoinder 
followed,  and  thus  the  controversy  was  kept  up  until  the 
watchman  bawling  twelve  o'clock,  reminded  our  stripling 
orators  that  it  was  time  for  them  to  quit  the  old  school- 
house;  which  with  great  reluctance  they  did,  but  without 
being  any  nearer  the  end  of  their  argument  than  when  they 
began. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  shades  of  midnight  had  parted  our  young  combatants, 
and  silent  and  alone,  Ren  had  trotted  home  to  his  printing- 
office;  but  still  in  his  restless  thoughts  the  combat  raged  in 
all  its  fury:  still  burning  for  victory,  where  truth  and  the 
ladies  were  at  stake,  he  fell  to  mustering  his  arguments 
again,  which  now  at  the  drum-beat  of  recollection  came 
crowding  on  him  so  thick  and  strong  that  he  felt  equally 
ashamed  and  astonished  that  he  had  not  utterly  crushed  his 
antagonist  at  once.  He  could  see  no  reason  on  earth  why 
Collins  had  made  a  drawn  battle  of  it,  but  by  his  vastly  su- 
perior eloquence.  To  deprive  him  of  this  advantage,  Ben 
determined  to  attack  him  with  his  pen.  And  to  this  he  felt 
the  greater  inclination,  as  they  were  not  to  meet  again  for 
several  nights.  So,  committing  his  thoughts  to  paper,  and 
taking  a  fair  copy,  he  sent  it  to  him.  Collins,  who,  "  was 
not  born  in  the  woods  to  be  scared  by  an  owl,"  quickly  an- 
swered, and  Ben  rejoined.  In  this  way  several  vol  lies  had 
passed  on  both  sides,  when  good  old  Josias  chanced  to  light 
upon  them  all;  both  the  copies  of  Ben's  letters  to  Collins, 
and  the  answers.  He  read  them  with  a  deep  interest,  iu*d 
that  very  night  sent  for  Ben  that  he  might  talk  with  him  on 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


29 


their  contents.  "  So  Ben!"  said  he  to  him  as  he  pressed  his 
beloved  hand,  "  you  have  got  into  a  paper  war  already,  have 
you  ?" 

Ben  blushed. 

I  don't  mean  to  blame  you,  my  son,  continued  the  old 
gentleman.  I  don't  blame  you;  on  the  contrary  I  am  de 
lighted  to  see  you  taking  such  pains  to  improve  your  mind. 
Go  on,  my  dear  boy,  go  on;  for  your  mind  is  the  only  part  that 
is  worth  your  care:  and  the  more  you  accustom  yourself  to 
find  your  happiness  in  that,  the  better.  The  body,  as  I  have 
a  thousand  times  told  you,  is  but  nicely  organized  earth,  that 
in  spite  of  the  daintiest  meats  and  clothes,  will  soon  grow  old 
and  withered,  and  then  die  and  rot  back  to  earth  again. 
Rut  the  Mind,  Ben,  is  the  Heavenly  part,  the  Immortal 
inhabitant,  who,  if  early  nursed  with  proper  thoughts  and 
affections,  is  capable  of  a  feast  that  will  endure  for  ever. 

This  your  little  controversy  with  your  friend  Collins  is 
praiseworthy,  because  it  has  a  bearing  on  that  grand  point, 
the  improvement  of  your  mind. 

But  let  me  suggest  a  hint  or  two,  my  son,  for  your  better 
conduct  of  it.  You  have  greatly  the  advantage  of  Mr.  Col- 
lins, in  correctness  of  spelling  and  pointing;  which  you  owe 
entirely  to  your  profession  as  a  printer;  but  then  he  is  as 
far  superior  to  you  in  other  respects.  He  certainly  has  not 
so  good  a  cause  as  you  have,  but  he  manages  it  better.  He 
clothes  his  ideas  with  such  elegance  of  expression,  and  ar- 
ranges his  arguments  with  so  much  perspicuity  and  art,  as 
will  captivate  all  readers  in  his  favour,  and  snatch  the  vic- 
tory from  you,  notwithstanding  your  better  cause.  In  con- 
firmation of  these  remarks,  the  old  gentleman  drew  from  his 
pocket  the  letters  of  their  correspondence,  and  read  to  him 
several  passages,  as  strong  cases  in  point. 

Ben  sensibly  felt  the  justice  of  these  criticisms,  and  after 
thanking  his  father  for  his  goodness  in  making  them,  assured 
aim,  that  as  he  delighted  above  all  things  in  reading  books 
of  a  beautiful  style,  so  he  was  resolved  to  spare  no  pains  to 
acquire  so  divine  an  art. 

The  next  day,  going  into  a  fresh  part  of  the  town,  with  a 
paper  to  a  new  subscriber,  he  saw,  on  the  side  of  the  street, 
a  little  table  spread  out  and  covered  with  a  parcel  of  toys, 
among  which  lay  an  odd  volume,  with  a  neat  old  woman  sit- 
ting by.  As  he  approached  the  table  to  look  at  the  book, 
the  old  lady  lifting  on  him  a  most  pleasant  countenance,  said, 
"  well  my  little  man  do  you  ever  dream  dreams  ?" 

3* 


30 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Ben  rather  startled  at  so  strange  a  salutation,  replied, 
that  he  had  dream9 1  in  his  time. — Well,  continued  the  old 
woman,  and  what  do  you  think  of  dreams  ;  do  you  put  any 
faith  in  9 em  ? 

Why,  no,  madam,  answered  Ben;  as  I  have  seldom  had 
dreams  except  after  taking  too  hearty  a  supper,  I  have  al- 
ways looked  on  'em  as  a  mere  matter  of  indigestion,  and  so 
have  never  troubled  my  head  much  about  'em. 

Well  now,  replied  the  old  lady,  laughing,  there9s  just  the 
difference  betivecn  you  and  me.  I,  for  my  part,  always  takes 
great  notice  of  dreams,  they  generally  turn  out  so  true.  And 
now  can  you  tell  what  a  droll  dream  I  had  last  night  ? 

Ben  answered  that  he  was  no  Daniel  to  interpret  dreams. 

Well,  said  the  old  lady, I  dreamed  last  night,  that  a  little 
man  just  like  you,  came  along  here  and  bought  that  old  book 
of  me. 

Aye!  why  that's  a  droll  dream  sure  enough,  replied  Ben; 
and  pray,  Madam,  what  do  you  ask  for  your  old  book  ? 

Only  four  pence  halfpenny,  said  the  old  lady. 

Well,  Madam,  continued  Ben,  as  your  dreaming  has 
generally,  as  you  say,  turned  out  true,  it  shall  not  be  other- 
wise now;  there9 s  your  money — so  now  as  you  have  another 
reason  for  putting  faith  in  dreams,  you  can  dream  again. 

As  Ben  took  up  his  book  to  go  away,  the  old  lady  said, 
stop  a  minute,  my  son,  stop  a  minute.  I  have  not  told  you 
the  whole  of  my  dream  yet.  Then  looking  very  gravely  a* 
him,  she  said,  But  though  my  dream  showed  that  the  book 
was  to  be  bought  by  a  little  man,  it  did  not  say  he  was  al- 
ways to  be  little.  No;  for  I  saw,  in  my  dream,  that  he 
grew  up  to  be  a  great  man;  the  lightnings  of  heaven  played 
around  his  head,  and  the  shape  of  a  kingly  crown  was  be- 
neath his  feet.  I  heard  his  name  as  a  pleasant  sound  from 
distant  lands,  and  I  saw  it  through  clouds  of  smoke  and 
flame,  among  the  tall  victor  ships  that  strove  in  the  last  bat- 
tle for  the  freedom  of  the  seas.  She  uttered  this  with  a  raised 
voice  and  glowing  cheek,  as  though  the  years  to  come,  with 
all  their  mighty  deeds,  were  passing  before  her. 

Ben  was  too  young  yet  to  suspect  who  this  old  woman 
was,  though  he  felt  as  he  had  read  the  youthful  Telemachus 
did,  when  the  fire-eyed  Minerva,  in  the  shape  of  Mentor, 
roused  his  soul  to  virtue. 

Farewell,  Madam,  said  Ben  with  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  went 
away;  you  might  have  spared  that  part  of  your  dream,  for  1 
%m  sure  there  is  very  little  chance  of  its  ever  coming  to  pass. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


3J 


But  though  Ben  went  away  to  attend  to  his  brother's  bu 
siness,  yet  the  old  woman's  looks  made  such  an  impression 
on  his  mind,  that  he  could  not  help  going  the  next  day  to 
see  her  again;  but  she  was  not  there  any  more. 

On  leaving  the  old  woman,  he  opened  his  book,  when,  be- 
hold, what  should  it  be  but  an  odd  volume  of  the  Spectator, 
a  book  which  he  had  not  seen  before.  The  number  which  he 
chanced  to  open  was  the  vision  of  Mirzah;  which  so  caught 
his  attention  that  he  could  not  take  it  off  until  he  had  got 
through.  What  the  people  thought  of  him  for  reading  in 
that  manner  as  he  walked  along  the  street,  he  knew  not; 
nor  did  he  once  think,  he  was  so  taken  up  with  his  book. 
He  felt  as  though  he  would  give  the  world  to  write  in  so 
enchanting  a  style;  and  to  that  end  he  carried  his  old 
volume  constantly  in  his  po.cket,  that  by  committing,  as  it 
were,  to  memory,  those  sweetly  flowing  lines,  he  might  stand 
a  chance  to  fall  into  the  imitation  of  them.  He  took  ano- 
ther curious  method  to  catch  Addison's  charming  style;  he 
would  select  some  favourite  chapter  out  of  the  Spectator, 
make  short  summaries  of  the  sense  of  each  period,  and  put 
them  for  a  few  days  aside;  then  without  looking  at  the  book, 
he  would  endeavour  to  restore  the  chapter  to  its  first  form, 
by  expressing  each  thought  at  full  length. 

These  exercises  soon  convinced  him  that  he  greatly  lack- 
ed a  fund  of  words,  and  a  facility  of  employing  them;  both 
of  which  he  thought  would  have  been  abundantly  supplied, 
had  he  but  continued  his  old  trade  of  making  verses.  The 
continual  need  of  words  of  the  same  meaning,  but  of  different 
lengths,  for  the  measure ;  or  of  different  sounds,  for  the 
rhyme,  would  have  obliged  him  to  seek  a  variety  of  synony- 
mes.  From  this  belief  he  took  some  of  the  papers  and  turn- 
ed them  into  verse;  and  after  he  had  sufficiently  forgotten 
them,  he  again  converted  them  into  prose. 

On  comparing  his  Spectator  with  the  original,  he  discover- 
ed many  faults;  but  panting,  as  he  did,  for  perfection  in 
this  noble  art,  nothing  could  discourage  him.  He  bravely 
persevered  in  his  experiments,  and  though  he  lamented  that 
in  most  instances  he  still  fell  short  of  the  charming  original, 
yet  in  some  he  thought  he  had  clearly  improved  the  order 
and  style.  And  when  this  happened,  it  gave  him  unspeak- 
able satisfaction,  as  it  sprung  the  dear  hope  that  in  time  he 
should  succeed  in  writing  the  English  language  in  the  samo 
enchanting  manner. 


82 


THE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  X. 

About  this  time,  which  was  somewhere  in  his  sixteenth 
year,  Ben  lighted  on  a  very  curious  work,  by  one  Tryon,  re- 
commending vegetable  diet  altogether,  and  condemning 
"animal  food  as  a  great  crime"  He  read  it  with  all  the 
avidity  of  a  young  and  honest  mind  that  wished  to  renounce 
error  and  embrace  truth.  "From  start  to  pole,"  as  the 
racers  say,  his  conscience  was  under  the  lash,  pointing  at 
him  as  the  dreadful  Saucophagist,  or  Meat-eater  alluded 
to  by  this  severe  writer.  He  could  not,  without  horror  re- 
flect, that  young  as  he  was,  his  stomach  had  yet  been  the 
grave  of  hundreds  of  lambs,  pigs,  birds,  and  other  little  ani- 
mals, "who  had  never  injured  him."  And  when  he  ex- 
tended the  dismal  idea  over  the  vast  surface  of  the  globe, 
and  saw  the  whole  human  race  pursuing  and  butchering  the 
poor  brute  creation,  filling  the  sea  and  land  with  cries  and 
blood  and  slaughter,  he  felt  a  depression  of  spirits  with  an 
anguish  of  mind  that  strongly  tempted  him,  not  only  to  de- 
test man,  but  even  to  charge  God  himself  with  cruelty.  But 
this  distress  did  not  continue  long.  Impatient  of  such 
wretchedness,  he  set  all  the  powers  of  his  mind  to  work, 
to  discover  designs  in  all  this,  worthy  of  the  Creator.  To 
his  unspeakable  satisfaction  he  soon  made  these  important 
discoveries.  'Tis  true,  said  he,  man  is  constantly  butcher- 
ing the  inferior  creatures.  And  it  is  also  true  that  they  are 
constantly  devouring  one  another.  But  after  all,  shocking 
as  this  may  seem,  it  is  but  dying:  it  is  but  giving  up  life, 
or  returning  a  something  which  was  not  their  own  ;  which 
for  the  honour  of  his  goodness  in  their  enjoyment,  was  only 
lent  them  for  a  season;  and  which,  therefore,  they  ought  not 
to  think  hard  to  return. 

Now  certainly,  continued  Ben,  all  this  is  very  clear  and 
easy  to  be  understood.  Well  then,  since  all  life,  whether 
of  man  or  beast,  or  vegetables,  is  a  kind  loan  of  God,  and 
to  be  taken  back  again,  the  question  is  whether  the  way  in 
which  we  see  it  is  taken  back  is  not  the  best  way.  It  is 
frue,  life  being  the  season  of  enjoyment,  is  so  dear  to  us  that 
there  is  no  way  of  giving  it  up  which  is  not  shocking.  And 
this  horror  which  we  feel  at  the  thought  of  having  our  own 
lives  taken  from  us  we  extend  to  the  brutes.  We  cannot 
help  feeling  shocked  at  the  butcher  killing  a  lamb,  or  one 
animal  killing  another.    Nay,  tell  even  a  child  who  is  look 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  35 

ing  wilh  smiles  on  a  g(K»d  old  family  horse  that  lias  just 
brought  a  bag  of  flour  from  the  mill,  or  a  load  of  wood  from 
the  forest,  that  this  his  beloved  horse  will  by  and  by  be  eaten 
up  of  the  buzzards,  and  instantly  his  looks  will  manifest  ex- 
treme distress.  And  if  his  mother,  to  whom  he  turns  for 
contradiction  of  this  horrid  prophecy,  should  confirm  it,  he 
is  struck  dumb  with  horror,  or  bursts  into  strong  cries  as  if 
his  little  heart  would  break  at  thought  of  the  dismal  end  to 
which  his  horse  is  coming.  These,  though  very  amiable,  are 
yet  the  amiable  weaknesses  of  the  child,  which,  it  is  the 
duty  of  man  to  overcome.  This  animal  was  created  of  his 
God  for  the  double  purpose  of  doing  service  to  man,  and  of 
enjoying  comfort  himself.  And  when  these  are  accomplished, 
and  that  life  which  was  only  lent  him  is  recalled,  is  it  not 
better  that  nature's  scavengers,  the  buzzards,  should  take 
up  his  flesh  and  keep  the  elements  sweet,  than  that  it  should 
lie  on  the  fields  to  shock  the  sight  and  smell  of  all  who  pass 
by  r  The  fact  is,  continued  fien,  I  see  that  all  creatures 
that  live,  whether  men  or  beasts,  or  vegetables,  are  doomed 
to  die.  Now  were  it  not  a  greater  happiness  that  this  uni- 
versal calamity,  as  it  appears,  should  be  converted  into  an 
universal  blessing,  and  this  dying  of  all  be  made  the  living 
of  all  ?  Well,  through  the  admirable  wisdom  and  goodness 
of  the  Creator,  this  is  exactly  the  case.  The  vegetables  all 
die  to  sustain  animals;  and  animals,  whether  birds,  beasts, 
or  fishes,  all  die  to  sustain  man,  or  one  another.  Now,  is 
it  not  far  better  for  them  that  they  should  be  thus  continually 
changing  into  each  other's  substance,  and  existing  in  the 
wholesome  shapes  of  life  and  vigour,  than  to  be  scattered 
about  dying  and  dead,  shocking  all  eyes  with  their  ghastly 
forms,  and  poisoning  both  sea  and  air  with  the  stench  of  their 
corruption  ? 

This  scrutiny  into  the  economy  of  nature  in  this  matter, 
gave  him  such  an  exalted  sense  of  nature's  Great  Author, 
that  in  a  letter  to  his  father,  to  whom  he  made  a  point  of 
writing  every  week  for  the  benefit  of  his  corrections,  he  says, 
though  I  was  at  first  greatly  angered  with  Tryon,  yet  after- 
wards I  felt  myself  much  obliged  to  him  for  giving  me  such 
a  hard  nut  to  crack,  for  I  have  picked  out  of  it  one  of  the 
sweetest  kernels  I  ever  tasted.  In  truth,  father,  continues 
he,  although  I  do  not  make  much  noise  or  show  about  re- 
ligion, yet  I  entertain  a  most  adoring  sense  of  the  Great 
First  Cause  ;  insomuch  that  I  had  rather  cease  to  exist  than 
cease  to  believe  him  all  wise  and  benevolent. 


54 


THE  LIFE  OF 


In  the  midst,  however,  of  these  pleasing  speculations,  an- 
other disquieting  idea  was  suggested. — Is  it  not  cruel,  after 
giving  life  to  take  it  away  again  so  soon  ?  The  tender  grass 
has  hardly  risen  above  the  earth,  in  all  its  spring-tide  green 
and  sweetness,  before  its  beauty  is  all  cropped  by  the  Iamb; 
and  the  playful  lamb,  full  dressed  in  his  snow-white  fleece, 
has  scarcely  tasted  the  sweets  of  existence,  before  lie  is 
caught  up  by  the  cruel  wolf  or  more  cruel  man.  And  so 
with  every  bird  and  fish :  this  has  scarcely  learned  to  sing 
his  song  to  the  listening  grove,  or  that  to  leap  with  transport 
from  the  limpid  wave,  before  he  is  called  to  resign  his  life  to 
man  or  some  larger  animal. 

This  was  a  horrid  thought,  which,  like  a  cloud,  spread  a 
deep  gloom  over  Ben's  mind.  But  his  reflections,  like  the 
sunbeams,  quickly  pierced  and  dispersed  them. 

These  cavillers,  said  he,  in  another  letter,  are  entirely 
wrong.  They  wish,  it  seems,  long  life  to  the  creatures;  the 
Creator  wishes  them  a  pleasant  one.  They  would  have  but 
a  few  to  exist  in  a  long  time ;  he  a  great  many  in  a  short 
time.  Now  as  youth  is  the  season  of  gaiety  and  enjoyment, 
and  all  after  is  comparatively  insipid,  is  it  not  better,  before 
that  pleasant  state  is  ended  in  sorrow,  the  creature  should 
pass  away  by  a  quick  and  generally  easy  fate,  and  appear 
again  in  some  other  shape  ?  Surely  if  the  grass  could 
reason,  it  would  prefer,  while  fresh  and  beautiful,  to  be 
cropped  by  the  lamb  and  converted  into  his  substance, 
than,  by  staying  a  little  longer,  to  disfigure  the  fields  with  its 
faded  foliage.  And  the  lamb  too,  if  he  could  but  think  and 
choose,  would  ask  for  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one,  rather 
than,  by  staying  a  little  longer,  degenerate  into  a  ragged 
old  sheep,  snorting  with  the  rattles,  and  dying  of  the  rot,  or 
murrain. 

But  though  Ben,  at  the  tender  age  of  sixteen,  and  with 
no  other  aid  than  his  own  strong  mind,  could  so  easily  quel' 
this  host  of  atheistical  doubts,  which  Tryon  had  conjured  up; 
yet  he  hesitated  not  to  become  his  disciple  in  another  tenet. 
Tryon  asserted  of  animal  food,  that  though  it  gave  great 
strength  to  the  body,  yet  it  contributed  sadly  togrossness  of 
blood  and  heaviness  of  mind;  and  hence  he  reasoned,  that  all 
who  wish  for  cool  heads  and  clear  thoughts  should  make  theii 
diet  principally  of  vegetables.  Ben  was  struck  with  this  as 
the  perfection  of  reason,  and  entered  so  heartily  into  it  as  a 
rare  help  for  acquiring  knowledge,  that  he  instantly  resolved, 
fond  as  he  was  of  flesh  and  fish,  to  give  both  up  from  that 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


35 


day,  and  never  taste  Ihem  again  as  long  as  he  lived  This 
steady  refusal  of  his  to  eat  meat,  was  looked  on  as  a  very 
inconvenient  singularity  by  his  brother,  who  scolded  him  for 
it,  and  insisted  he  should  give  it  up.  Ben  made  no  words 
with  his  brother  on  this  account. — Knowing  that  avarice  was 
his  ruling  passion,  he  threw  out  a  bait  to  James  which  in- 
stantly caught,  and  without  any  disturbance  produced  tho 
accommodation  he  wished.  "Brother,"  said  he  to  him  one 
day  as  he  scolded;  "you  give  three  shillings  and  six  pence 
a  week  for  my  diet  at  this  boarding-house;  give  me  but  half 
that  money  and  I'll  diet  myself  without  any  farther  trouble 
or  expense  to  you."  James  immediately  took  him  at  his 
word  and  gave  him  in  hand  his  week's  ration,  one  shilling 
and  nine  pence,  which  after  the  Boston  exchange,  six  shil- 
lings to  the  dollar,  makes  exactly  thirty-seven  and  a  half 
cents.  Those  who  often  give  one  dollar  for  a  single  dinner, 
and  five  dollars  for  a  fourth  of  July  dinner,  would  look  very 
blue  at  an  allowance  of  thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents  for  a 
whole  week.  But  Ben  so  husbanded  this  little  sum,  that 
after  defraying  all  the  expenses  of  his  table,  he  found  him- 
self at  the  end  of  the  week,  near  twenty  cents  in  pocket — 
thus  expending  not  quite  three  cents  a  day!  This  was  a 
joyful  discovery  to  Ben — twenty  cents  a  week,  said  he, 
and  fifty -two  weeks  in  the  year;  why,  that  is  upwards  of  ten 
dollars  in  the  twelve  months!  what  a  noble  fund  for  books! 
Nor  was  this  the  only  benefit  he  derived  from  it;  for,  while 
his  brother  and  the  journeymen  were  gone  to  the  boarding- 
house  to  devour  their  pork  and  beef,  which,  with  lounging 
and  picking  their  teeth,  generally  took  them  an  hour,  he 
stayed  at  the  printing-office;  and  after  dispatching  his  frugal 
meal,  of  boiled  potatoe,  or  rice;  or  a  slice  of  bread  with  an 
apple;  or  bunch  of  raisins  and  a  glass  of  water,  he  had  the 
rest  of  the  time  for  study.  The  pure  fluids  and  bright  spirits 
secreted  from  such  simple  diet,  proved  exceedingly  favour- 
able to  that  clearness  and  vigour  of  mind,  and  rapid  growth 
m  knowledge  which  his  youthful  soul  delighted  in. 

I  cannot  conclude  this  chapter  without  making  a  remark 
which  the  reader  has  perhaps  anticipated — that  it  was  by 
<his  simple  regimen,  vegetables  and  water,  that  the  Jewish 
&eer,  the  holy  Daniel,  while  a  youth,  was  of  Providence 
made  fit  for  all  the  learning  of  the  East;  hence  arose  his 
bright  visions  into  futurity,  and  his  clear  pointings  to  the 
far  distant  days  of  the  Messiah,  when  the  four  great  brass 
and  iron  monarcnies  of  Media,  Persia,  Grecia,  and  Rome, 


36 


THE  LIFE  OF 


being  overthrown,  Christ  should  set  up  his  last  golden  mo- 
narchy of  Love,  which,  though  faint  in  the  beginning  as  the 
first  beam  of  the  uncertain  dawn,  shall  yet  at  length  bright- 
en all  the  skies,  and  chase  the  accursed  clouds  of  sin  and 
su tiering  from  the  abodes  of  man  and  beast. 

In  like  manner,  it  was  on  the  simple  regimen  of  vegetables 
and  water,  the  easy  purchase  of  three  cents  a  day,  that  the 
same  Providence  raised  up  our  young  countryman  to  guard 
the  last  spark  of  perfect  liberty  in  the  British  colonies  of 
North  America.  Yes,  it  was  on  three  cents'  worth  of  daily 
bread  and  water,  that  young  Ben  Franklin  commenced  his 
collection  of  that  blaze  of  light,  which  early  as  1754,  showed 
the  infant  and  unsuspecting  colonies  their  rights  and  their 
dangers — and  which  afterwards,  in  1764,  blasted  the  trea- 
sonable stamp  act — and  finally,  in  '73  and  '74,  served  as  the 
famed  star  of  the  East,  to  guide  Washington  and  his  wise 
men  of  the  revolution,  to  the  cradle  of  liberty,  struggling  in 
the  gripe  of  the  British  Herod,  lord  North.  There  rose  the 
oattle  of  God  for  an  injured  people;  there  spread  the  star- 
spangled  banner  of  freedom;  and  there  poured  the  blood  of 
the  brave,  fighting  for  the  rights  of  man  under  the  last  re- 

Eublic.   O  that  God  may  long  preserve  this  precious  vine  of 
is  own  right  hand  planting,  for  his  own  glory  and  the  hap- 
piness of  unborn  millions ! 

But  the  reader  must  not  conclude  that  Ben,  through  life, 
tied  himself  up  to  a  vegetable  diet.  No.  Nature  will  have 
her  way.  And  having  designed  man  partly  carnivorous,  as 
his  canine  teeth,  his  lengthened  bowels,  and  his  flesh-pot 
appetites  all  evince,  she  will  bring  him  back  to  the  healthy 
mixture  of  animal  food  with  vegetable,  or  punish  his  obsti- 
nacy with  diarrhoea  and  debility.  But  she  had  no  great  diffi- 
culty in  bringing  Ben  back  to  the  use  of  animal  food.  Ac- 
cording to  his  own  account,  no  nosegay  was  ever  more 
fragrant  to  his  olfactories  than  was  the  smell  of  fresh  fish  in 
the  frying  pan.  And  as  to  his  objection  to  such  a  savory  diet 
on  account  of  its  stupifying  effects  on  the  brain,  he  easily 
got  the  better  of  that,  when  he  reflected  that  the  witty  queen 
Elizabeth  breakfasted  on  beef-stake  ;  that  sir  Isaac  New- 
ton dined  on  pheasants;  that  Horace  supped  on  fat  bacon: 
and  that  Pope  both  breakfasted,  dined,  and  supped  on  shrimps 
and  oysters.  And  for  the  objection  taken  from  the  cruelty 
of  killing  innocent  animals,  for  their  flesh,  he  got  over  that 
by  the  following  curious  accident: — -On  his  first  voyage  to 
New- York,  the  vessel  halting  on  the  coast  for  lack  of  breeze, 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


37 


the  sailors  all  fell  to  fishing  lor  cod,  of  which  they  presently 
took  great  numbers  and  very  fine.  Instead  of  being  de- 
lighted at  this  sight,  Ben  appeared  much  hurt,  and  began  to 
preach  to  the  crew  on  their  "injustice,"  as  he  called  it,  in 
thus  taking  away  the  lives  of  those  poor  little  fish,  who, 
"  had  never  injured  them,  nor  ever  could."  The  sailors  were 
utterly  dum-founded  at  such  queer  logic  as  this.  Taking 
their  silence  for  conviction,  Ben  rose  in  his  argument,  and 
began  to  play  the  orator  quite  outrageously  on  the  main 
deck.  At  length  an  old  wag  of  a  boatswain,  who  had  at 
first  been  struck  somewhat  aback  by  the  strangeness  of  this 
attack,  took  courage,  and  luffing  up  again,  with  a  fine  breeze 
of  humour  in  his  weather-beaten  sail,  called  out  to  Ben, 
"Well,  but  my  young  Master  preacher,  may  not  we  deal  by 
these  same  cod  here,  as  they  deal  by  their  neighbours." 
"  To  be  sure,"  said  Ben. 

"  Well  then,  sir,  see  here,"  replied  the  boatswain,  holding 
up  a  stout  fish,  6fc  see  here  what  a  whaler  I  took  just  now  outo* 
the  belly  of  that  cod!"  Ben  looking  as  if  he  had  his  doubts, 
the  boatswain  went  on,  "  O  sir,  if  you  come  to  that,  you  shall 
have  proof;"  whereupon  he  laid  hold  of  a  large  big-bellied 
cod  that  was  just  then  flouncing  on  the  deck,  and  ripping 
him  open,  in  the  presence  of  Ben  and  the  crew,  turned  out 
several  young  cod  from  his  maw. 

Here,  Ben,  well  pleased  with  this  discovery,  cried  out, 
Oho!  villains!  is  that  the  game  you  play  with  one  another  un- 
der the  water!  Unnatural  wretches!  What!  eat  one  another! 
Well  then,  if  a  cod  can  eat  his  own  brother,  I  see  no  reason 
in  nature  why  man  may  not  eat  him.  With  that  he  seized  a 
stout  young  fish  just  fresh  from  his  native  brine,  and  frying  him 
in  all  haste,  made  a  very  hearty  meal.  Ben  never  after  this, 
made  any  more  scruples  about  animal  food,  but  ate  fish,  flesh, 
or  fowl,  as  they  came  in  his  way,  without  asking  any  ques- 
tions for  conscience  sake. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Except  the  admirable  Chichton,  I  have  never  heard 
cf  a  genius  that  was  fitted  to  shine  in  every  art  and  science. 
Kven  Newton  was  dull  in  languages;  and  Pope  used  to  saj 
of  himself,  that  "he  had  as  leave  hear  the  squeal  of  pig? 

4 


38 


THE  LIFE  OF 


in  a  gate,  as  hear  the  organ  of  Handel !"  Neither  was  oui  den 
the  "  omnia  homo"  or  "  Jack  of  all  trades."  He  never  c  mid 
bear  the  mathematics!  and  even  arithmetic  presented  to  him 
no  attractions  at  all.  Not  that  he  was  not  capable  of  it;  for. 
happening  aoout  this  time,  still  in  his  sixteenth  year,  to  be 
laughed  at  for  his  ignorance  in  the  art  of  calculation,  he  went 
and  got  himself  a  copy  of  old  Cocker's  Arithmetic,  one  of 
the  toughest  in  those  days,  and  went  through  it  by  himself 
with  great  ease.  The  truth  is,  his  mind  was  at  this  time  en- 
tirely absorbed  in  the  ambition  to  be  a  finished  writer  of  the 
English  language;  such  a  one,  if  possible,  as  the  Spectator, 
whom  he  admired  above  all  others. 

While  labouring,  as  we  have  seen,  to  improve  his  style, 
he  laid  his  hands  on  all  the  English  Grammars  he  could  hear 
of.  Among  the  number  was  a  treatise  of  that  sort,  an  old 
shabby  looking  thing,  which  the  owner,  marking  his  curiosity 
in  those  matters,  made  him  a  present  of.  Ben  hardly  re- 
turned him  a  thankee,  as  doubting  at  first  whether  it  was 
wrorth  carrying  home.  But  how  great  was  his  surprise,  when 
coming  towards  the  close  of  it,  he  found,  crammed  into  a 
small  chapter,  a  treatise  on  the  art  of  disputation,  after  the 
manner  of  Socrates.  The  treatise  was  very  short,  but  it  was 
enough  for  Ben;  it  gave  an  outline,  and  that  was  all  he  want- 
ed. As  the  little  whortle-berry  boy,  on  the  sands  of  Cape 
May,  grabbling  for  his  breakfast  in  a  turtle's  nest,  if  he 
but  reaches  with  his  little  hand  but  one  egg,  instantly  laughs 
with  joy,  as  well  knowing  that  all  the  rest  will  follow,  like 
beads  on  a  string.  So  it  was  with  the  eager  mind  of  Ben,  when 
he  first  struck  on  this  plan  of  Socratic  disputation.  In  an  in- 
stant his  thoughts  ran  through  all  the  threads  and  meshes  of 
the  wondrous  net;  and  he  could  not  help  laughing  in  his 
sleeve,  to  think  what  a  fine  puzzling  cap  he  should  soon 
weave  for  the  frightened  heads  of  Collins,  Adams,  and  all 
others  who  should  pretend  to  dispute  with  him.  But  the  use 
which  he  principally  had  in  view  to  make  of  it,  and  which 
tickled  his  fancy  most,  was  how  completely  he  should  now 
confound  those  ignorant  and  hypocritical  ones  in  Boston, 
who  were  continually  boring  him  about  religion.  Not  that 
Ben  ever  took  pleasure  in  confounding  those  who  were  ho- 
nestly desirous  of  showing  their  religion  by  their  good  works; 
for  such  were  always  his  esteem  and  delight.  But  he  could 
never  away  with  those  who  neglected  justice,  mercy,  and 
truth,  and  yet  aftected  great  familiarities  with  the  Deity, 
from  certain  conceited  wonders  that  Christ  had  wrought  in 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


'hem.  As  no  youth  ever  nore  heartily  desired  the  happiness 
:>!  man  and  beast  than  I<  n  did,  so  none  ever  more  seriouslv 
resented  that  the  religion  of  love  and  good  works  tending  (o 
(his,  should  be  usurped  by  a  harsh,  barren puritanism,  with 
her  disfigured faces,  whine  and  cant.  This  appeared  to  him 
like  Dagon  overturning  the  Ark  of  God  with  a  vengeance. 
Burning  with  zeal  against  sucli  detestable  phariseeism  he 
rejoiced  in  his  Socratic  logic  as  anew  kind  of  weapon,  which 
he  hoped  to  employ  with  good  eftect  against  it.  He  studied 
his  Socrates  day  and  night,  and  particularly  his  admirable 
argumentations  given  by  Xenophon,  in  his  b  >ok,  entitled 
"Memorable  things  of  Socrates;*'  and  in  a  little  time 
came  to  wield  his  new  artillery  with  great  lexterity  and 
success. 

But  in  all  his  rencontres  with  the  false  christians,  he  ad 
hered  strictly  to  the  spirit  of  Socrates,  as  being  perfectly 
congenial  to  his  own.  Instead  of  blunt  contradictions  and 
positive  assertions,  he  would  put  modest  questions;  and  after 
obtaining  of  them  concessions  of  which  they  did  not  foresee 
the  consequences i  he  would  involve  them  in  difficulties  and 
embarrassments,  from  which  they  could  never  extricate  them- 
selves. Had  he  possessed  a  vanity  capable  of  being  satisfied 
with  the  triumph  of  wit  over  dulness,  he  might  long  have 
crowed  the  master  cock  of  this  Socratic  pit.  But  finding 
that  his  victories  seldom  produced  any  practical  good;  that 
they  were  acquired  at  a  considerable  expense  of  time,  ne- 
glect of  business,  and  injury  of  his  temper,  which  was  never 
formed  for  altercation  with  bigots,  he  abandoned  it  by  de- 
grees, retaining  only  the  habit  of  expressing  himself  with  a 
modest  diffidence.  And  not  only  at  that  time,  but  ever  after- 
wards through  life,  it  was  remarked  of  him,  that  in  argument 
he  rarely  used  the  words  certainly,  undoubtedly,  or  any  others 
that  might  convey  the  idea  of  being  obstinately  conceited  of 
his  own  opinion.  His  ordinary  phrases  w  ere — I  imagine — 
/  suppose — or,  it  appears  to  me,  that  such  a  thing  is  so  ana 
so — or,  it  is  so,  if  lam  not  mistaken.  By  such  soothing  arts 
he  gradually  conciliated  the  good  will  of  his  opponents,  and 
almost  always  succeeded  in  bringing  them  over  to  his  wishes. 
Hence  he  used  to  say,  it  was  great  pity  that  sensible  and 
well-meaning  persons  should  lessen  their  own  usefulness  by 
a  positive  and  presumptuous  way  of  talking,  which  only 
serves  to  provoke  opposition  from  the  passionate,  arid  shy- 
ness from  the  prudent,  who  rather  than  get  into  a  dispute 
with  such  self-conceited  characters,  will  hold  their  peace., 


40 


THE  LIFE  OF 


and  let  them  go  on  in  their  errors.  In  short,  if  you  wish 
to  answer  one  of  the  noblest  ends  for  which  tongues  were 
given  to  rational  beings,  which  is  to  inform  or  to  be  inform- 
ed, to  please  and  to  persuade  them,  for  heaven's  sake,  treat 
their  opinions,  even  though  erroneous,  with  great  politeness. 

"  Men  must  be  taught  as  though  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  propos'd  as  things  torgot," 

says  Mr.  Pope;  and  again 

*'  To  speak,  though  sure,  with  seeming  diffidence  ; 
For  want  of  modesty  is  want  of  sense. M 

CHAPTER  XII. 

So  late  as  1720,  there  was  but  one  newspaper  in  all  North 
America,  and  even  this  by  some  was  thought  one  too  many 
so  little  reading  was  there  among  the  people  in  those  days. 
But  believing  that  the  reading  appetite,  weak  as  it  was,  ran 
more  on  newspapers  than  any  thing  else,  James  Franklin  took 
it  into  his  head  to  start  another  paper.  His  friends  all  vowed 
it  would  be  the  ruin  of  him;  but  James  persevered,  and  a 
second  newspaper,  entitled  "  The  New  England  Cou- 
rant,"  was  published.  What  was  the  number  of  sub- 
scribers, after  so  long  a  lapse  of  time,  is  now  unknown;  but 
it  was  Ben's  humble  lot  to  furnish  their  papers  after  having 
assisted  to  compose  and  work  them  off. 

Among  his  friends,  James  had  a  number  of  literary  cha- 
racters, who,  by  way  of  amusement,  used  to  write  for  his 
paper.  These  gentlemen  frequently  visited  him  at  his  office, 
merely  for  a  little  chat,  and  to  tell  how  highly  the  public 
thought  of  their  pieces  Ben  attended  closely  to  their  con 
versation,  and  happening  to  think  they  were  no  great  wits, 
he  determined  to  cut  in  and  try  his  hand  among  them.  But 
how  to  get  his  little  adventures  into  the  paper  was  the  ques- 
tion, and  a  serious  one  too  ;  for  he  knew  very  well  that  his 
brother,  looking  on  him  as  hardly  more  than  a  child,  would 
not  dream  of  printing  any  thing  that  he  knew  had  come  from 
his  pen.  Stratagem  of  course  must  be  resorted  to.  He  took 
his  time,  and  having  written  his  piece  pretty  much  to  his 
mind,  lie  copied  it  in  a  disguised  hand,  and  when  they  were 
all  gone  to  bed,  slyly  shoved  it  under  the  door  of  the  office; 
vhere  it  was  found  next  morning.  In  the  course  of  the  day, 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


41 


/lis  friends  dropping  in  as  usual,  James  showed  them  the 
stranger  paper;  a  caucus  was  held,  and  with  aching  heart 
Hen  heard  his  piece  read  for  their  criticism.  It  was  highly 
applauded:  and  to  his  greater  joy  still,  among  their  various 
conjectures  as  to  the  author,  not  one  was  mentioned  who  did 
not  hold  a  distinguished  reputation  for  talents!  Encouraged  by 
such  good  success  of  this  his  first  adventure,  he  wrote  on,  and 
sent  to  the  press  in  the  same  sly  way,  several  other  pieces, 
which  were  equally  approved,  keeping  the  secret  till  his  slen- 
der stock  of  information  was  pretty  completely  exhausted, 
when  he  came  out  with  the  real  author. 

His  brother,  on  this  discovery,  began  to  entertain  a  little 
more  respect  for  him,  but  still  looked  on  and  treated  him 
as  a  common  apprentice.  Ben,  on  the  other  hand,  thought 
that,  as  a  brother,  he  had  a  right  to  greater  indulgence,  and 
sometimes  complained  of  James  as  rather  too  rigorous.  This 
difference  in  opinion  rose  to  disputes,  which  were  often 
brought  before  their  fathei,  who  either  from  partiality  to 
Ben,  or  his  better  cause,  generally  gave  it  in  his  favour. 
James  could  not  bear  these  awards  of  his  father  in  favour 
of  a  younger  brother,  but  would  fly  into  a  passion  and  treat 
him  with  abuse  even  to  blows.  Ben  took  this  tyrannical 
behaviour  of  his  brother  in  extremely  ill  part;  and  he  some- 
where says  that  it  imprinted  on  his  mind  that  deep-rooted 
aversion  to  arbitrary  power,  which  he  never  lost,  and  which 
rendered  him  through  life  such  a  firm  and  unconquerable  ene- 
my of  oppression.  His  apprenticeship  became  insupportable, 
and  he  sighed  continually  for  an  opportunity  of  shortening 
it,  which  at  length  unexpectedly  offered. 

An  article  in  his  paper,  on  some  political  subject,  giving 
great  offence  to  the  assembly,  James  was  taken  up;  and  be- 
cause he  would  not  discover  the  author,  was  ordered  into 
confinement  for  a  month.  Ben  also  was  had  up  and  examined 
before  the  council,  who,  after  reprimanding,  dismissed  him. 
probably  because  deeming  him  bound,  as  an  apprentice,  to 
keep  his  master's  secrets. 

Notwithstanding  their  private  quarrels,  this  imprisonment 
of  his  brother  excited  Ben's  indignation  against  the  assem- 
bly; and  having  now,  during  James'  confinement,  the  sole 
direction  of  the  paper,  he  boldly  came  out  every  week  with 
some  severe  pasquinade  against 64  The  little  tyrants  of  Bos- 
ton." But  though' this  served  to  gratify  his  own  angry  feel- 
ings, and  to  tickle  James,  as  also  to  gain  himself  the  charac- 
ter of  a  wonderful  young  man  for  satire;  yet  it  answerrd  no 


42 


THE  LIFE  OF 


good  end,  but  far  contrariwise,  proved  a  fatal  blow  to  their 
newspaper ;  for  at  the  expiration  of  the  month,  James's  en- 
largement was  accompanied  with  an  order  from  the  assem- 
bly, that  u  James  Franklin  should  no  longer  print  the 

NEWSPAPER  ENTITLED  THE  New  ENGLAND  CoURANT." 

This  was  a  terrible  thunder-clap  on  poor  James  and  his 
whole  scribbling  squad;  and  Ben  could  find  no  lightning 
rod  to  parry  the  bolt.  A  caucus,  however,  of  all  the  friends 
was  convoked  at  the  printing-office,  to  devise  ways  and  means 
of  redress.  One  proposed  this  measure  and  another  that; 
but  the  measure  proposed  by  James  himself  was  at  length 
adopted.  This  was  to  carry  on  the  newspaper  under  Ben's 
name.    But,  said  some,  will  not  the  assembly  haul  you  over 

the  coals  for  thus  attempting  to  whip  the  d  /  round  the 

stump  ? 

No,  replied  James. 

Aye,  how  will  you  prevent  it? 

Why,  I'll  give  up  Ben's  indentures. 

So  then  you'll  let  Ben  run  free? 

No,  nor  that  neither  ;  for  he  shall  sign  a  new  contract. 

This  was  to  be  sure  a  very  shallow  arrangement.  It  was 
however  carried  into  immediate  execution,  and  the  paper 
continued  in  consequence  to  make  its  appearance  for  some 
months  in  Ben's  name.  At  length  a  new  difference  arising 
between  the  brothers,  and  Ben  knowing  that  James  would 
not  dare  to  talk  of  his  new  contract,  boldly  asserted  his 
freedom ! 

His  numerous  admirers  will  here  blush  for  poor  Ben,  and 
hide  their  reddening  cheeks.  But  let  them  redden  as  they 
may,  they  will  hardly  ever  equal  that  honest  crimson  which 
glows  in  the  following  lines  from  his  own  pen: 

"It  was,  no  doubt,  very  dishonourable  to  avail  myself  of 
this  advantage,  and  I  reckon  this  as  the  first  error  of  my 
life.  But  I  was  little  capable  of  seeing  it  in  its  true  light, 
embittered  as  my  mind  had  been  by  the  blows  I  had  received 
Exclusively  of  his  passionate  treatment  of  me,  my  brother 
was  by  no  means  an  ill  tempered  man.  And  even  here,  per- 
iiaps,  my  manners  had  too  much  of  impertinence  not  to  af- 
ford it  a  very  natural  pretext." 

Go  thy  way,  honest  Ben.  Such  a  confession  of  error  wil 
plead  thy  excuse  with  all  who  know  their  own  infirmities,  and 
remember  what  the  greatest  saints  have  done.  Yes,  when 
we  remember  what  young  Jacob  did  to  his  brothei  Esau,  and 
kow  he  came  over  him  with  his  mess  of  pottage,  robbing  him 


Dlt.  FRANK  LhN. 


43 


>f  his  birthright;  and  also  what  David  did  to  Uriah,  whom 
he  robbed  not  only  of  his  wife,  but  of  his  life  also,  we  surely 
shall  pity  not  only  Hen,  but  every  man  his  brother  for  then 
follies,  and  heartily  rejoice  that  there  is  mercy  with  Clmst 
to  forgive  all,  on  their  repentance  and  amendment. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Finding  that  to  live  with  James  in  the  pleasant  relations 
of  a  brother  and  a  freeman  was  a  lost  hope,  Ben  made  up  his 
mind  to  quit  him  and  go  on  journey-work  with  some  of  the 
Boston  printers.  But  James  suspecting  Ben's  intentions, 
went  around  town  to  the  printers,  and  made  such  a  re- 
port of  him,  that  not  a  man  of  them  all  would  have  any 
thing  to  say  to  him.  The  door  of  employment  thus  shut 
against  him,  and  all"  New  England  furnishing  no  other 
printing  office,  Ben  determined,  in  quest  of  one,  to  push  off 
to  New- York.  He  was  farther  confirmed  in  this  resolution 
by  a  consciousness  that  his  newspaper  squibs  in  behalf  of  his 
brother,  had  made  the  governing  party  his  mortal  enemies. 
And  he  was  also  afraid  that  his  bold  and  indiscreet  argu- 
mentation against  the  gloomy  puritans,  had  led  those  crab- 
bed people  to  look  on  him  as  no  better  than  a  young  atheist, 
whom  it  would  be  doing  God  service  to  worry  as  they  wou'd 
a  wild  cat.    He  felt  indeed  that  it  was  high  time  to  be  off. 

To  keep  his  intended  flight  from  the  knowledge  of  his  fa- 
ther, his  friend  Collins  engaged  his  passage  with  the  captain 
of  a  New-York  sloop,  to  whom  he  represented  Ben  as  an 
amorous  young  blade,  who  wished  to  get  away  privately  in 
consequence  of  an  intrigue  with  a  worthless  hussy,  whom 
her  relations  wanted  to  force  upon  him.  Ben  had  no  mo- 
ney. But  he  had  money's  worth.  Having,  for  four  years 
past,  been  carefully  turning  into  books  every  penny  he  could 
spare,  he  had  by  this  time  made  up  a  pretty  little  library. 
It  went  prodigiously  against  him  to  break  in  upon  his  books. 
But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  80  turning  a  parcel  of  them 
back  again  into  money,  he  slip]  ed  privately  on  board  of  a 
eiloop,  which  on  the  third  day  landed  him  safely  in  New- 
York,  three  hundred  miles  from  home,  only  seventeen  years 
old,  without  a  single  friend  in  the  place,  and  but  little  money 
in  his  pocket. 


44 


THE  LIFE  OF 


He  immediately  offered  his  services  to  a  Mr.  Bradford 
the  only  printer  in  New-York.  The  old  gentleman  express- 
ed his  regret  that  he  could  give  him  no  employment;  but  in 
a  very  encouraging  manner  advised  him  to  go  on  to  Phila- 
delphia, where  he  had  a  son,  a  printer,  who  would  probably 
do  something  for  him.  Philadelphia  was  a  good  hun- 
dred miles  farther  off ;  but  Ben,  nothing  disheartened  by 
that,  instantly  ran  down  to  the  wharf,  and  took  his  passage 
in  an  open  boat  for  Amboy,  leaving  his  trunk  to  follow  him 
by  sea.  In  crossing  the  bay,  they  were  overtaken  by  a  dread- 
ful squall,  during  which  a  drunken  Dutchman,  a  passenger, 
fell  headlong;  into  the  racing  waves.  Being  hissing  hot  and 
swollen  with  rum,  he  popped  up  like  a  dead  catfish;  but  just 
as  he  was  going  down  the  second  time,  never  to  rise  again, 
by  a  miracle  of  mercy,  Ben  caught  him  by  the  fore-top,  and 
lugged  him  in,  where  he  lay  tumbled  over  on  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  fast  asleep,  and  senseless  as  a  corpse  of  the  fright- 
ful storm  which  threatened  every  moment  to  bury  them  all 
in  a  watery  grave.  The  violence  of  the  wind  presently  drove 
them  on  the  rocky  coasts  of  Long  Island;  where,  to  prevent 
being  dashed  to  pieces  among  the  furious  breakers,  they  cast 
anchor,  and  there  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  all  night 
long,  lay  riding  out  the  gale.  Their  little  boat  pitching 
bows  under  at  every  surge,  while  the  water  constantly  fly- 
ing over  them  in  drenching  showers,  kept  them  as  wet  as 
drowned  rats;  and  not  only  unable  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep, 
but  also  obliged  to  stir  their  stumps,  baling  the  boat  to  keep 
her  from  sinking. 

The  wind  failing  the  next  day,  they  reached  A  nboy 
about  dark,  after  having  passed  thirty  hours  without  a  n  orsel 
of  victuals,  and  with  no  other  drink  than  a  bottle  of  bad  rum; 
the  water  upon  which  they  had  rowed,  being  as  salt  as  brine. 
Ben  went  to  bed  with  a  high  fever.  Having  somewhere  read 
that  cold  water,  plentifully  drank,  was  good  in  such  cases;  he 
followed  the  prescription,  which  threw  him  into  a  piofuse 
sweat,  and  the  fever  left  him.  The  next  day,  feeble  and  alone, 
he  set  out,  with  fifty  wearisome  miles  to  walk  before  he  could 
reach  Burlington,  whence  he  was  told  that  a  passage  boat 
would  take  him  to  Philadelphia.  To  increase  his  depression, 
soon  as  he  left  the  tavern,  it  set  in  to  rain  hard.  But  though 
wet  to  the  skin,  he  pressed  on  by  himself  through  the 
gloomy  woods  till  noon,  when  feeling  much  fatigued,  and 
the  rain  still  pouring  down,  he  stopped  at  a  paltry  tavern, 
ivnere  ne  passed  the»  rest  of  the  day  and  night.    In  this 


Page  44. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


4S 


><oomy  situation  he  began  seriously  to  repent  that  he  had  ever 
Fefl  home;  and  the  more,  as  from  the  wretched  figure  he  made, 
every  body  was  casting  a  suspicious  eye  upon  him  as  a  run 
away  servant.  Indeed,  from  the  many  insulting  questions 
put  to  him,  he  felt  himself  every  moment  in  danger  of  being 
taken  up  as  such,  and  then  what  would  his  father  think  on 
hearing  that  he  was  in  jail  as  a  runaway  servant,  four  hun- 
dred miles  from  home!  And  what  a  triumph  to  his  brother. 
\fter  a  very  uneasy  night,  however,  he  rose  and  continued  his 
journey  till  the  evening,  when  he  stopped  about  ten  miles 
from  Burlington,  at  a  little  tavern,  kept  by  one  Dr.  Brown. 
While  he  was  taking  some  refreshment,  Brown  came  in, 
and  being  of  a  facetious  turn,  put  a  number  of  droll  ques- 
tions to  him;  to  which  Ben  retorted  in  a  style  so  superioi 
to  his  youthful  looks  and  shabby  dress,  that  the  Doctor  be- 
came quite  enamoured  of  him.  He  kept  him  up  conversing 
until  midnight;  and  next  morning  would  not  touch  a  penny 
of  his  money.  This  was  a  very  seasonable  liberality  to  poor 
Ben,  for  he  had  now  very  little  more  than  a  dollar  in  his 
pocket. 

On  reaching  Burlington,  and  buying  some  gingerbread 
for  his  passage,  he  hastened  to  the  wharf.  But  alas!  the  boat 
had  just  sailed!  This  was  on  Saturday;  and  there  would  be 
no  other  boat  until  Tuesday.  Having  been  much  struck  with 
the  looks  of  the  old  woman,  of  whom  he  had  just  bought  his 
cargo  of  gingerbread,  he  went  back  and  asked  her  advice. 
Her  behaviour  proved  that  he  had  some  skill  in  physiogno- 
my. For  the  moment  he  told  her  of  his  sad  disappointment 
and  his  doubts  how  he  should  act,  she  gave  him  the  tender 
look  of  a  mother,  and  told  him  he  must  stay  with  her  till  the 
next  boat  sailed.  Pshaw!  Don't  mind  these  little  disappoint- 
ments, child,  said  she,  seeing  him  uneasy;  they  are  not 
worth  your  being  troubled  about.  When  I  was  young,  I 
used  to  be  troubled  about  them  too.  But  now  I  see  that  it 
is  all  but  vanity.  So  stay  with  me  till  the  boat  goes  again; 
and  rest  yourself,  for  I  am  sure  you  must  be  mighty  fired 
after  such  a  terrible  walk.  The  good  old  lady  was  very 
right;  for  what  with  his  late  loss  of  sleep,  as  also  his  fever 
and  long  walk  in  the  rains,  he  was  tired  indeed;  so  he  glad- 
ly consented  to  stay  with  her  and  rest  himself.  Having 
shown  him  a  small  room  with  a  bed  in  it,  for  him  to  take  a 
nap,  for  she  saw  clear  enough,  she  said,  that  he  urns  a  dying 
for  sleep,  she  turned  with  a  mother's  alacrity  to  get  him 
something  to  eat.    By  and  by  she  came  a^ain,  and  fiom  n 


<*6 


THE  LIFE  OF 


short  but  refreshing  doze,  waked  him  up  to  a  dinner  ot 
hot  beef-steaks,  of  which  she  pressed  him  to  eat  heartily. 
telling  him  that  gingerbread  was  jit  only  for  children.  While 
he  was  eating,  she  chatted  with  him  in  the  affectionate  spirit 
of  an  aged  relative;  she  asked  him  a  world  of  questions,  such 
as  how  old  he  was — and  what  was  his  name — and  whether 
his  mother  was  alive — and  how  far  he  lived  from  Burling- 
ton? Ben  told  her  every  thing  she  asked  him.  He  told  her 
his  name  and  age.  He  also  told  her  that  his  mother  was 
alive,  and  that  he  had  left  her  only  seven  days  ago  in  Boston, 
where  she  lived.  The  old  lady  could  hardly  believe  him 
that  he  ever  came  from  Boston.  She  lifted  up  her  hands, 
and  stared  at  him  as  though  he  had  told  her  he  had  just 
dropped  from  the  North  Star.  From  Boston!  said  she  with 
a  scream,  now  only  to  think  of  that!  O  dear,  only  to  think  of 
that!  And  then,  0  how  she  pitied  his  mother.  Poor  dear 
soul!  She,  all  the  way  yonder  in  Boston,  and  such  a  sweet 
looking,  innocent  child,  wandering  here  at  such  a  distance 
by  himself:  how  could  she  stand  it? 

Ben  told  her  that  it  was  a  great  affliction  to  be  sure;  but 
could  not  be  helped.  That  his  mother  was  a  poor  woman, 
with  sixteen  children,  and  that  he  the  youngest  boy  of  all, 
was  obliged  to  leave  her  to  seek  his  livelihood,  which  he 
hoped  he  should  find  in  Philadelphia,  at  his  trade,  which 
was  that  of  a  printer. 

On  hearing  that  he  was  a  printer,  she  was  quite  delighted 
and  pressed  him  to  come  and  set  up  in  Burlington,  for  that 
she  would  be  hound  for  it  he  would  do  mighty  well  there. 
Ben  told  her  that  it  was  a  costly  thing  to  set  up  printing; 
that  it  would  take  two  hundred  pounds,  and  he  had  not  two 
hundred  pence. 

Well  then,  said  she,  now  that  you  have  got  no  money,  it  will 
give  me  more  pleasure  to  have  you  stay  with  me  till  you  can 
get  a  good  opportunity  to  go  to  Philadelphia.  I  feel  for  your 
poor  mother,  and  I  know  it  would  give  her  such  a  pleasure 
if  she  knew  you  were  here  with  me. 

Soon  as  Ben  had  enjoyed  his  beef-steaks,  which  he  did  in 
high  style,  having  the  double  sauce  of  his  own  good  appe- 
tite and  her  motherly  welcome,  he  drew  out  his  last  dollar 
to  pay  the  good  old  lady.  But  she  told  him  to  put  it  up,  put 
it  up,  for  she  would  not  take  a  penny  of  it.  Ben.  told  her 
that  he  was  young  and  able  to  work,  and  hoped  to  do  well  when 
he  got  into  business,  and  therefore  could  not  bear  that  she  who 
was  getting  old  and  weak  should  entertain  him  for  nothing. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


47 


(777/,  said  she,  never  mind  that,  child)  never  mind  tlint,  I 
shall  never  miss  what  little  I  lay  out  in  entertaining  you  while 
you  stay  with  me.  So  put  up  your  money.  However,  w  hile 
she  was  busied  in  putting  away  the  dishes,  he  slipped  out 
and  got  a  pint  of  ale  for  her:  and  it  was  all  that  he  could 
prevail  on  her  to  accept. 

From  the  pleasure  with  which  Ben  ever  afterwards  spoke 
of  this  good  old  woman,  and  her  kindness  to  him,  a  poor 
strange  boy,  I  am  persuaded  as  indeed  I  have  always  been, 
that  there  is  nothing  on  which  men  reflect  with  so  much  com- 
placency as  on  doing  or  receiving  offices  of  love  from  one 
another. 

Ben  has  not  left  us  the  name  of  this  good  old  woman,  nor 
the  sect  of  christians  to  which  she  belonged.  But  it  is  proba- 
ble she  was  a  Quaker.  Most  of  the  people  about  Burlington 
in  those  days  were  Quakers.  And  besides  such  kindness  as 
her's  seems  to  be  more  after  the  spirit  of  that  wise  people, 
who  Instead  of  wrangling  about/a*//*,  which  even  devils  pos- 
sess, give  their  chief  care  to  that  which  is  the  end  of  all  faith, 
and  which  the  poor  devils  know  nothing  about,  viz  "  love 
and  good  works." 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Ben  now  sat  himself  down  to  stay  with  this  good  old  wo- 
man till  the  following  Tuesday;  but  still  Philadelphia  was 
constantly  before  him,  and  happening,  in  the  impatience  of 
his  mind,  to  take  a  stroll  along  the  river  side,  he  saw  a  boat 
approaching  with  a  number  of  passengers  in  it.  Where  art 
you  bound?  said  he. 

To  Philadelphia,  was  the  reply. 

His  heart  leaped  for  joy.  Can't  you  take  a  passenger 
aboard?  I'll  help  you  to  row.  O  yes,  answered  they,  and 
bore  up  to  receive  him.  With  all  his  heart  he  would 
have  run  back  to  his  good  old  hostess  to  bid  her  farewell, 
and  to  thank  her  for  her  kindness  to  him,  but  the  boat  could 
not  wait;  and  carrying,  tortoise-like,  his  all  upon  his  back, 
in  he  stepped  and  went  on  with  them  to  Philadelphia,  where, 
after  a  whole  night  of  hard  rowing,  they  arrived  about  eight 
o'clock  next  rcxorning,  which  happened  to  be  Sunday. 

Soon  as  the  boat  struck  the  place  of  landing,  which  was 


48 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Market-street  wharf,  Ben  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and 
asked,  what  was  the  damage.  The  boatmen  shook  their 
heads,  and  said,  oh  no;  he  had  nothing  to  pay.  Tliey  could 
never  take  pay  from  a  young  fellow  of  his  spirit,  who  had  so 
cheerfully  assisted  them  to  row  all  the  way.  As  his  own  stock 
now  consisted  of  but  one  Dutch  dollar,  and  about  a  shilling's 
worth  in  coppers,  he  would  have  been  well  content  to  ac- 
cept his  passage  on  their  own  friendly  terms;  but  seeing  one 
of  their  crew  who  appeared  to  be  old,  and  rather  poorly 
dressed,  he  hauled  out  his  coppers  and  gave  them  all  to  him. 
Having  shaken  hands  with  these  honest-hearted  fellows,  he 
leaped  ashore  and  walked  up  Market-street  in  search  of 
something  to  appease  his  appetite,  which  was  now  abun- 
dantly keen  from  twenty  miles'  rowing  and  a  cold  night's 
lir.  He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  before  he  met  a  child 
bearing  in  his  arms  that  most  welcome  of  all  sights  to  a 
hungry  man,  a  fine  loaf  of  bread.  Ben  eagerly  asked  him 
where  he  had  got  it.  The  child,  turning  around,  lifted  his 
little  arm  and  pointing  up  the  street,  with  great  simplicity 
md  sweetness  said,  don't  you  see  that  little  house — that  little 
white  house,  way  up  yonder  ? 
Ben  said,  yes. 

Well  then,  continued  the  child,  that's  the  bakers  house ; 
there's  where  my  mammy  sends  me  every  morning  to  get  bread 
for  all  we  children. 

Ben  blessed  his  sweet  lips  of  innocence,  and  hastening  to 
the  house,  boldly  called  for  three  pence  worth  of  bread.  The 
baker  threw  him  down  three  large  rolls. 

What,  all  this  for  three  pence!  asked  Ben  with  surprise. 

Yes,  all  that  for  three  pence,  replied  the  baker  with  a  fine 
yankee  snap  of  the  eye,  all  that  for  only  three  pence!  Then 
measuring  Ben  from  head  to  foot,  he  said  with  a  sly  quiz- 
zing sort  of  air,  and  pray  now  my  little  man  where  may  you 
nave  come  from  ? 

Here  Ben  felt  his  old  panic,  on  the  runaway  servant  score, 
returning  strong  upon  him  again.  However,  putting  on  a 
bold  face,  he  promptly  answered  that  he  was  from  Boston. 

Plague  on  it  replied  the  man  of  dough,  and  why  did'nt 
you  tell  me  that  at  first;  I  might  so  easily  have  cabbaged  you 
out  of  one  whole  penny;  for  you  know  you  could  not  have 
got  all  that  bread  in  Yankee-town  for  less  than  a  good  four- 
pence  ?  Very  cheap,  said  Ben,  three  large  rolls  for  three- 
pence; quite  dog  cheap  !  80  taking  them  up,  began  to  stow 
them  away  in  his  pockets ;  but  soon  found  it  impossible  for 


Pagt  49. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


49 


lack  of  room — so  placing  a  roll  under  each  arm,  and  break- 
ing the  third,  he  began  to  eat  as  he  walked  along  up  Mai- 
kct-street.  On  the  way  he  passed  the  house  of  that  beauti- 
ful girl,  Miss  Deborah  Read,  who  happening  to  be  at  the 
door,  was  so  diverted  at  the  droll  figure  he  made,  that  she 
could  not  help  laughing  outright.  And  indeed  no  wonder. 
A  stout  fleshy  boy,  in  his  dirty  working  dress,  and  pockets 
all  puckered  out,  with  foul  linen  and  stockings,  and  a 
loaf  of  bread,  under  each  arm,  eating  and  gazing  around  him 
as  he  walked— no  wonder  she  could  not  help  laughing  aloud 
at  him  as  one  of  the  greatest  gawkies  she  had  ever  seen. 
Very  little  idea  had  she  at  that  time  that  she  was  presently 
to  be  up  to  her  eyes  in  love  with  this  young  gawky;  and 
after  man}  a  deep  sigh  and  heart-ache,  was  to  marry  him 
and  to  be  made  a  great  woman  by  him.  And  yet  all  this 
actually  came  to  pass,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  and  we 
hope  greatly  to  the  comfort  of  all  virtuous  young  men,  who 
though  they  may  sometimes  be  laughed  at  for  their  oddities; 
yet  if,  like  Franklin,  they  will  but  stick  to  the  main  chance, 
i.  e.  Business  and  Education,  they  will  assuredly,  like 
him,  overcome  at  the  last,  and  render  themselves  the  ad- 
miration of  those  who  once  despised  them. 

But  our  youthful  hero  is  in  too  interesting  a  part  of  the 
play  for  us  to  lose  a  moment's  sight  of  him;  so  after  this 
short  moral  we  turn  our  eyes  on  him  again,  as  there,  loaded 
with  his  bundles  and  his  bread,  and  eating  and  gazing  and 
turning  the  corners  of  the  streets,  he  goes  on  without  indeed 
knowing  where  he  is  going.  At  length,  however,  just  as  he 
had  finished  his  first  roll,  his  reverie  was  broken  up  by  finding 
himself  on  Market-street  wharf,  and  close  to  the  very  boat 
in  which  he  had  come  from  Burlington.  The  sight  of  the 
silver  stream,  as  it  whirled  in  dimpling  eddies  around  the 
wharf,  awakened  his  thirst;  so  stepping  into  the  boat  he  took 
a  hearty  draught,  which,  to  his  unvitiated  palate,  tasted 
sweeter  than  ever  did  mint-sling  to  any  young  drunkard. 
Close  by  him  in  the  boat  sat  a  poor  woman  with  a  little 
ragged  girl  leaning  on  her  lap.  He  asked  her  if  she  had 
breakfasted.  With  a  sallow  smile  of  hunger  hoping  relief, 
she  replied  no,  for  that  she  had  nothing  to  eat.  Upon  this 
he  gave  her  both  his  other  loaves.  At  sight  of  this  welcome 
supply  of  food,  the  poor  woman  and  her  child  gave  him  a 
look  which  he  never  afterwards  forgot. 

Having  given,  as  we  have  seen,  a  tythe  of  his  money  in 
gratitude  to  the  pooi  boatman,  and  two  thirds  of  his  bread 

5 


50 


THE  LIFE  OF 


in  charity  to  this  poor  woman  and  her  child,  Ben  skipped 
again  upon  the  wharf,  and  with  a  heart  light  and  gay  with 
conscious  duty,  a  second  time  took  up  Market-street,  which 
was  now  getting  to  be  full  of  well-dressed  people  all  going 
the  same  way  He  cut  in,  and  following  the  line  of 
march,  was  thus  insensibly  led  to  a  large  Quaker  meeting- 
house. Sans  ceremonie,  he  pushed  in  and  sat  down  with 
the  rest,  and  looking  around  him  soon  felt  the  motions,  if 
not  of  a  devout,  yet  of  a  pleasantly  thoughtful  spirit.  It 
came  to  his  recollection  to  have  heard  that  people  must  go 
abroad  to  §ee  strange  things.  And  here  it  seemed  to  be 
verified.  What,  no  pulpit !  Whoever  saw  a  meeting-house 
before  without  a  pulpit  ?  He  could  not  for  his  life  conceive 
where  the  preacher  was  to  stand.  But  his  attention  was 
quickly  turned  from  the  meeting-house  to  the  congregation, 
whose  appearance,  particularly  that  of  the  young  females, 
delighted  him  exceedingly.  Such  simplicity  of  dress  with 
such  an  air  of  purity  and  neatness!  He  had  never  seen 
any  thing  like  it  before,  and  yet  all  admirably  suited  to  the 
gentle  harmony  of  their  looks.  And  then  their  eyes!  for 
meekness  and  sweetness  of  expression,  they  looked  like 
dove's  eyes.  With  a  deep  sigh  he  wished  that  his  brother 
James  and  many  others  in  Boston  were  but  gentle  and  good 
as  these  people  appeared  to  be.  Young  as  he  was,  he 
thought  the  world  would  be  a  great  deal  the  happier  for  it. 
As  leaning  back  he  indulged  these  soothing  sentiments,  with- 
out any  sound  of  singing  or  preaching  to  disturb  him,  and 
tired  nature's  soft  languors  stealing  over  him  too,  he  sunk  in- 
sensibly into  sleep.  We  are  not  informed  that  he  was  visited 
duringhis  slumber,  by  any  of  those  benevolent  spirits  who  once 
descended  in  the  dreams  of  the  youthful  patriarch,  as  he  slept 
in  the  pleasant  plains  of  Bethel.  But  he  tells  us  himself,  that 
he  was  visited  by  one  of  that  benevolent  sect  in  whose  place 
of  worship  he  had  been  overtaken  by  sleep.  Waked  by  some 
hand  on  his  shoulder  that  gently  shook  him,  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  lo!  a  female  countenance  about  middle  age  and 
of  enchanting  sweetness,  was  smiling  on  him.  Roused  to  a 
recollection  of  the  impropriety  he  had  been  guilty  of,  he 
was  too  much  confused  to  speak  ;  but  his  reddened  cheeks 
told  her  what  he  felt.  But  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  Gently 
shaking  her  head,  though  without  a  frown,  and  with  a  voice 
of  music,  she  said  to  him  "  My  son,  thee  ought  not  to  sleep 
in  meeting."  Then  giving  him  the  look  of  a  mother  as  she 
went  out,  she  bade  him  farewell.    He  followed  her  as  well 


DR.  FRANK!  IN 


51 


as  ho  could,  and  left  the  meeting-house  much  mortified  at 
having  been  caught  asleep  in  it;  but  deriving  at  the  same 
time  great  pleasure  from  this  circumstance,  because  it  had 
furnished  opportunity  to  the  good  Quaker  lady  to  ^ive  him 
that  motherly  look.  He  felt  it  sweetly  melting  along  his 
soul  as  he  walked.  O  how  different,  thought  he,  that  look 
from  the  looks  which  my  brother  and  the  council  men  of 
Boston  gave  me,  though  I  was  younger  then  and  more  an  ob- 
ject of  sympathy ! 

As  he  walked  along  the  street,  looking  attentively  in  the 
face  of  every  one  he  met,  he  saw  a  young  Quaker  with  a 
fine  countenance,  whom  he  begged  to  tell  him  where  a 
stranger  might  find  a  lodging.  With  a  look  and  voice  of 
great  sweetness,  the  young  Quaker  said,  they  receive  travel- 
lers here,  but  it  is  not  a  house  that  bears  a  good  character; 
if  thee  will  go  with  me,  I  will  show  thee  a  better  one. 

This  was  the  Crooked  Billet,  in  Water-street.  Directly 
after  dinner,  his  drowsiness  returning,  he  went  to  bed  and 
slept,  without  waking  till  next  morning. 

Having  put  himself  in  as  decent  a  trim  as  he  could,  he 
waited  on  Mr.  Bradford,  the  printer,  who  received  him  with 
great  civility,  and  invited  him  to  breakfast,  but  told  him  he 
was  sorry  he  had  no  occasion  for  a  journeyman.  There  is, 
however,  continued  he  in  a  cheering  manner,  there  is  an- 
other printer  here,  of  the  name  of  Reimer,  to  whom  if  you 
wish  it,  I  will  introduce  you.  Perhaps  he  may  want  your 
services. 

Ben  gratefully  accepting  the  offer,  away  they  went  to  Mr. 
Keimer's.  But  alas,  poor  man!  both  he  and  his  office  put 
together,  made  no  more  than  a  miserable  burlesque  on 
printing.  Only  one  press,  and  that  old  and  damaged !  only 
one  font  of  types,  and  that  nearly  worn  out!  and  only  one 
set  of  letter  cases,  and  that  occupied  by  himself !  and  con- 
sequently no  room  for  a  journeyman. 

Here  was  a  sad  prospect  for  poor  Ben — four  hundred 
miles  from  home — not  a  dollar  in  his  pocket — and  no  ap- 
pearance of  any  employment  to  get  one. — But  having,  from 
his  childhood,  been  accustomed  to  grapple  with  difficulties 
and  to  overcome  them,  Ben  saw  nothing  here  but  another 
trial  of  his  courage,  and  another  opportunity  for  victory  and 
triumph. 

As  to  Keimer,  suspecting  from  his  youthful  appearance, 
that  Ben  could  hardly  understand  any  thing  of  the  printing 
art,  he  slyly  put  a  composing  stick  into  his  hand.  Ben 


TflE  LIFE  OF 


saw  his  drift,  and  stepping  to  the  letter  cases,  filled  the  sticK 
with  such  celerity  and  taste  as  struck  Keimer  with  surprise, 
not  without  shame,  that  one  so  inferior  in  years  should  be 
so  far  his  superior  in  professional  skill.  To  complete  this 
favourable  impression,  Ben  modestly  proposed  to  repair  his 
old  press. — This  offer  being  accepted,  Ben  instantly  fell  to 
work,  and  presently  accomplished  his  undertaking  in  such  a 
workman-like  style,  thai  Keimer  could  no  longer  restrain 
his  feelings,  but  relaxing  his  rigid  features  into  a  smile  of 
admiration,  paid  him  several  flattering  compliments,  and 
concluded  with  promising  him,  that  though,  for  the  present, 
he  had  no  work  on  hand,  yet  he  expected  an  abundance 
shortly,  and  then  would  be  sure  to  send  for  him. 

In  a  few  days  Keimer  was  as  good  as  his  word;  for  having 
procured  another  set  of  letter  cases,  with  a  small  pamphlet 
to  print,  he  sent  in  all  haste  for  Ben,  and  set  him  to  work. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

As  Keimer  is  to  make  a  considerable  figure  in  the  early 
part  of  Ben's  life,  it  may  gratify  the  reader  to  be  made  ac- 
quainted with  him.  From  the  account  given  of  him  by  Ben, 
who  had  the  best  opportunity  to  know,  it  appears  that  he 
possessed  but  little  either  of  the  amiable  or  estimable  in  his 
composition.  A  man  he  was  of  but  slender  talents — quite- 
ignorant  of  the  world — a  wretched  workman — and  worse 
than  all  yet,  utterly  destitute  of  religion,  and  therefore  very 
uneven  and  unhappy  in  his  temper,  and  abundantly  capable 
of  playing  the  knave  whenever  he  thought  it  for  his  interest. 
Among  other  evidences  of  his  folly,  he  miserably  envied  hi: 
brother  printer,  Bradford,  as  if  the  Almighty  was  not  rich 
enough  to  maintain  them  both.  He  could  not  endure,  that 
while  working  with  him,  Ben  should  stay  at  Bradford's;  so 
he  took  him  away,  and  having  no  house  of  his  own,  he  put 
him  to  board  with  Mr.  Read,  father  of  the  young  lady  who 
of  late  had  laughed  so  heartily  at  him  for  eating  his  rolls 
along  the  street.  But  Miss  Deborah  did  not  long  continue 
in  this  mind.  For  on  seeing  the  favourable  change  in  his 
dress,  and  marking  also  the  wittiness  of  his  conversation, 
and  above  all,  his  close  application  to  business,  and  the 
great  respect  paid  him  on  that  account  bv  her  father,  she 


OR.  FRANKLIN. 


felt  a  wonderful  change  in  his  favour,  and  in  place  of  her 
former  sneers,  conceived  those  tender  sentiments  for  him, 
which,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter, accompanied  her  through  life. 

Ben  now  began  to  contract  acquaintance  with  all  such 
young  persons  in  Philadelphia  as  were  fond  of  reading  ;<1 
spent  his  evenings  with  them  very  agreeably:  at  the 
time  he  picked  up  money  by  his  industry,  and  being  quite 
frugal,  lived  so  happy,  that  except  for  his  parents,  he  seldom 
ever  thought  of  Boston  nor  felt  any  wish  to  see  it.  An  af- 
fair, however,  turned  up,  which  sent  him  home  much  sooner 
than  he  expected. 

His  brother-in-lawr,  a  captain  Holmes,  of  a  trading  sloop 
from  Boston  to  Delaware,  happening  at  Newcastle  to  hear 
that  Ben  was  in  Philadelphia,  wrote  to  him  that  his  father 
was  all  but  distracted  on  account  of  his  sudden  elopement 
from  home,  and  assured  him  that  if  he  would  but  return, 
which  he  earnestly  pressed  him  to  do,  every  thing  should  be 
settled  to  his  satisfaction.  Ben  immediately  answered  his 
letter,  thanked  him  for  his  advice,  and  stated  his  reasons 
for  quitting  Boston,  with  a  force  and  clearness  that  so 
highly  delighted  captain  Holmes,  that  he  showed  it  to  all 
his  acquaintance  at  Newcastle,  and  among  the  rest  to  sir 
William  Keith,  governor  of  the  province,  with  whom  he 
happened  to  dine.  The  governor  read  it,  and  appeared  sur- 
prised when  he  learnt  his  age.  "  IMiy,  this  must  be  a  young 
man  of  extraordinary  talents,  captain  Holmes,"  said  the 
governor,  "very  extraordinary  talents  indeed,  and  ought  to 
be ,  encouraged ;  we  have  no  printer  in  Philadelphia  now 
worth  a  Jig,  and  if  this  young  man  will  but  set  up,  there  is 
no  doubt  of  his  success.  For  my  part,  J  will  give  him  all 
the  public  business,  and  render  him  every  other  service  in  my 
power." 

One  day  as  Keimer  and  Ben  were  at  work  near  the  win- 
dow, they  saw  the  governor  and  colonel  French  cross  the 
street,  and  make  directly  for  the  printing-office.  Keimer  n  t 
doubting  it  was  a  visit  to  himself,  hurried  down  stairs  to  meet 
them.  The  Governor  taking  no  notice  of  Keimer,  but  eagerly 
inquiring  fjr  young  Mr.  Franklin,  came  up  stairs,  and  with 
a  condescension  to  which  Ben  had  not  been  accustomed,  in 
troduced  himself  to  him — desired  to  become  acquainted  with 
him — and  after  obligingly  reproaching  him  for  not  having 
made  himself  known  when  he  first  came  to  town,  invited 
him  to  the  tavern  where  he  and  colonel  French  were  going  to 
break  a  bottle  of  old  Madeira. 

5* 


54 


THE  LIFE  O*' 


If  Ben  was  surprised,  old  Keimer  was  thunderstruck.  Ben 
went,  however,  with  the  governor  and  the  colonel  to  the  ta- 
vern, where,  while  the  Madeira  was  circulating  in  cheerful 
bumpers,  the  governor  proposed  to  him  to  set  up  a  printing- 
office,  stating  at  the  same  time  the  great  chances  of  success, 
and  promising  that  both  himself  and  colonel  French  would 
use  their  influence  in  procuring  for  him  the  public  printing 
of  both  governments.  As  Ben  appeared  to  doubt  whether 
his  father  would  assist  him  in  this  enterprise,  sir  William 
said  that  he  would  give  the  old  gentleman  a  letter,  in  which 
he  would  represent  the  advantages  of  the  scheme  in  a  light 
that  would,  he'd  be  bound,  determine  him  in  his  favour.  It 
was  thus  concluded  that  Ben  should  return  to  Boston  by  the 
first  vessel,  with  the  governor's  letter  to  good  old  Josias:  in 
the  mean  time  Ben  was  to  continue  with  Keimer,  from  wh  »m 
this  project  was  to  be  kept  a  secret. 

The  governor  sent  every  now  and  then  to  invite  Ben  to 
dine  with  him,  which  he  considered  as  a  very  great  honour, 
especially  as  his  excellency  always  received  and  conversed 
with  him  in  the  most  familiar  manner. 

In  April,  1724,  Ben  embarked  for  Boston,  where,  after  a 
fortnight  passage,  he  arrived  in  safety.  Having  been  ab- 
sent seven  months  from  his  relatives,  who  had  never  heard  a 
syllable  of  him  all  that  time,  his  sudden  appearance  threw 
the  family  into  a  scream  of  joy,  and  excepting  his  sour-faced 
brother  James,  the  whole  squad  gave  him  a  most  hearty  wel- 
come. After  much  embracing  and  kissing,  and  some  tears 
shed  on  both  sides,  as  is  usual  at  such  meetings,  Ben  kindly 
inquired  after  his  brother  James,  and  went  to  see  him  at  his 
printing-office,  not  without  hopes  of  making  a  favourable 
impression  on  him  by  his  dress,  which  was  handsome  far 
beyond  what  he  had  ever  worn  in  his  brother's  service;  a 
complete  suit  of  broad  cloth,  branding  new — an  elegant  sil- 
ver watch  and  chain — and  his  purse  crammed  with  nearly 
hve  pound  sterling — all  in  silver  dollars.  But  it  would  not 
all  do  to  win  over  James.  Nor  indeed  is  it  to  be  wondered 
at;  for  in  losing  Ben  he  had  lost  a  most  cheerful,  obliging 
lad,  whose  rare  genius  and  industry  in  writing,  printing,  and 
Felling  his  pamphlets  and  papers,  nad  brought  a  noble  grist 
to  his  mill. 

Ben's  parade  therefore  of  his  fine  clothes,  and  watch,  and 
silver  dollars,  only  made  things  worse  with  James,  serving 
but  to  make  him  the  more  sensible  of  his  loss;  so  after  eye- 
;ng  him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  dark  side -long  look,  "he 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


55 


turned  again  to  his  work  without  saying  a  syllable  to  him. 
The  behaviour  of  his  own  journeymen  contributed  still  the 
more  to  anger  poor  James:  for  instead  of  taking  part  with  him 
in  his  prejudices  against  Ben,  they  all  appeared  quite  de- 
lighted with  him;  and  breaking  off  from  their  work  arid 
gathering  around  him,  with  looks  full  of  curiosity,  they  ask- 
ed him  a  world  of  questions. 

Philadelphia!  said  they,  O  dear!  have  you  been  all  the. 
way  there  to  Philadelphia! 

Ben  said,  yes. 

Why  Philadelphia  must  be  a  tarnal  nation  way  off! 
Four  hundred  miles,  said  Ben. 

At  this  they  stared  on  him  in  silent  wonder,  for  having 
been  four  hundred  miles  from  Boston! 

And  so  they  have  got  a  printing-office  in  Philadelphia! 

Two  or  three  of  them,  said  Ben. 

O  la!  why  that  will  starve  us  all  here  in  Boston. 

Not  at  all,  said  Ben:  their  advertising  "  lost  pocket  books" 
— "  runaway  servants"  and  6fc  stray  cows"  in  Philadelphia, 
can  no  more  starve  you  here  in  Boston,  than  the  catfish  of 
Delaware,  by  picking  up  a  few  soft-crabs  there,  can  starve 
our  catfish  here  in  Boston  harbour.  The  world's  big  enough 
for  us  all. 

Well,  I  wonder  now  if  they  have  any  such  thing  as  mo- 
ney in  Philadelphia? 

Ben  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  brought  up  a  whole 
fist  full  of  dollars! 

The  dazzling  silver  struck  them  all  speechless — gaping 
and  gazing  at  him  and  each  other.  Poor  fellows,  they  had 
never,  at  once,  seen  so  much  of  that  precious  metal  in  Bos- 
ton: the  money  there  being  nothing  but  a  poor  paper  proc. 

To  keep  up  their  stare,  Ben  drew  his  silver  watch,  which 
soon  had  to  take  the  rounds  among  them,  every  one  insist- 
ing to  have  a  look  at  it.  Then,  to  crown  all,  he  gave  them 
a  shilling  to  drink  his  health;  and  after  telling  them  what 
great  things  lay  before  them  if  they  would  but  continue  in- 
dustrious and  prudent,  and  make  themselves  masters  of  their 
trade,  he  wrent  back  to  the  house. 

This  visit  to  the  office  stung  poor  James  to  the  quick;  for 
when  his  mother  spoke  to  him  of  a  reconciliation  with  Ben, 
and  said  how  happy  she  should  be  to  see  them  like  brothers 
again  before  she  died,  he  flew  into  a  passion  and  told  her 
such  a  thing  would  never  be,  for  that  Ben  had  so  insulted 
him  before  his  men  that  he  would  never  forgive  nor  forget 


56 


THE  XJTE  OF 


it  as  long;  as  he  lived.  Bui  lien  had  the  satisfaction  to  live 
to  see  that  James  was  no  prophet.  For  when  James,  many 
years  after  this,  fell  behind  hand  and  got  quite  low  in  the 
world,  Ben  lent  him  money,  and  was  a  steady  friend  to  him 
and  his  family  all  the  days  of  his  life. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

But  we  have  said  nothing  yet  about  the  main  object  of 
Ben's  sudden  return  to  Boston,  i.  e.  governor  Keith's  iettei 
to  his  father,  on  the  grand  project  of  setting  him  up  as  a 
printer  in  Philadelphia.  The  reader  has  been  told  that  all 
the  family,  his  brother  James  excepted,  were  greatly  re- 
joiced to  see  Ben  again.  But  among  them  all  there  was  none 
whose  heart  felt  half  such  joy  as  did  that  of  his  father.  He  had 
always  doted  on  this  young  son,  as  one  whose  rare  genius  and 
unconquerable  industry,  if  but  conducted  by  prudence,  would 
assuredly,  one  day,  lead  him  to  greatness.  His  sudden  elope- 
ment, as  we  have  seen,  had  greatly  distressed  the  old  man, 
especially  as  he  was  under  the  impression  that  he  was  gone 
to  sea.  And  when  he  remembered  how  few  that  go  out  at 
his  young  and  inexperienced  age,  ever  return  better  than 
blackguards  and  vagabonds,  his  neart  sickened  within  him, 
and  he  was  almost  ready  to  wish  he  had  never  lived  to  feel 
the  pangs  of  such  bitter  disappointment  in  a  child  so  be- 
loved. He  counted  the  days  of  Ben's  absence;  by  nignt  his 
sleep  departed  from  his  eyes  for  thinking  of  his  son;  and  all 
day  long  whenever  he  heard  a  rapping  at  the  door,  his  heart 
would  leap  with  expectation:  "  who  knows,"  he  would  say  to 
himself,  "  but  this  may  be  my  child?"  And  although  he  would 
feel  disappointed  when  he  saw  it  was  not  Ben  who  rapped, 
yet  he  was  afraid,  at  times,  to  see  him  lest  he  should  see 
him  covered  with  the  marks  of  dishonour.  Who  can  tell 
what  this  anxious  father  felt  when  he  saw  his  son  return  as 
he  did?  Not  in  the  mean  apparel  and  sneaking  looks  of  a 
drunkard,  but  in  a  dress  far  more  genteel  than  he  himself 
had  ever  been  able  to  put  on  him;  while  his  beloved  cheeks 
were  fresh  with  temperance,  and  his  eyes  bright  with  inno- 
cence and  conscious  well  doing.  Imagination  dwells  with 
pleasure  on  the  tender  scene  that  marked  that  meeting, 
where  the  withered  cheeks  of  seventy  and  the  florid  bicuti 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


57 


of  seventeen  met  together  in  the  eager  embrace  of  parental 
affection  and  filial  gratitude. 

"  God  bless  my  son!"  the  sobbing  sire  he  sigh'd. 

"  God  bless  my  sire!"  that  pious  son  replied. 

Soon  as  the  happy  father  could  recover  his  articulation, 
with  great  tenderness  he  said,  "but  how,  my  beloved  boy, 
could  you  give  me  the  pain  to  leave  me  as  you  did  ?" 

46  Why  you  know,  my  dear  father,"  replied  Ben,  "that  I 
could  not  live  with  my  brother;  nor  would  he  let  me  live  with 
the  other  printers;  and  as  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  living 
on  an  aged  father  now  that  I  was  able  to  work  for  myself, 
I  determined  to  leave  Boston  and  seek  my  fortune  abroad. 
And  knowing  that  if  I  but  hinted  my  intentions  you  would 
prevent  me,  I  thought  I  would  leave  you  as  I  did." 

"  But  why,  my  son,  did  you  keep  me  so  long  unhappy 
about  your  fate,  and  not  write  to  me  sooner?" 

"  I  knew,  father,  what  a  deep  interest  you  took  in  my  wel- 
fare, and  therefore  I  resolved  never  to  write  to  you  until  by 
my  own  industry  and  economy  I  had  got  myself  into  such  a 
state,  that  I  could  write  to  you  with  pleasure.  This  state  I 
did  not  attain  till  lately.  And  just  as  I  was  a  going  to  write 
to  you,  a  strange  affair  took  place  that  decided  me  to  come 
ind  see  you,  rather  than  write  to  you." 

"  Strange  affair!  what  can  that  mean,  my  son  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  the  governor  of  Pennsylvania,  sir  William 
Keith — I  dare  say,  father,  you  have  often  heard  of  governor 
Keith  r" 

46  I  may  have  heard  of  him,  child — I'm  not  positive — but 
what  of  governor  Keith?" 

"  Why  he  has  taken  a  wonderful  liking  to  me,  father!" 

"Aye!  has  he  so?"  said  the  old  man,  with  joy  sparkling 
in  his  eyes.  "  Well  I  pray  God  you  may  be  grateful  for 
such  favours,  my  son,  and  make  a  good  use  of  them!" 

"Yes,  father,  he  has  taken  a  great  liking  to  me  sure 
enough;  he  says  I  am  the  only  one  in  Philadelphia  whc 
knows  any  thing  about  printing;  and  he  says  too,  that  if  I 
will  only  come  and  set  up  in  Philadelphia,  he  will  make  my 
fortune  for  me  in  a  trice!!" 

Old  Josias  here  shook  his  head;  "  No,  no,  Ben!"  said  he, 
*  that  will  never  do:  that  will  never  do:  you  are  too  young 
yet,  child,  for  all  that,  a  great  deal  too  young." 

"  So  I  told  him,  father,  that  I  was  too  young.    And  I  told 
him  too  that  I  was  certain  you  would  never  give  your  con 
sent  to  it" 


58 


THE  LIFE  OF 


"  You  were  right  there,  Ben  ;  no  indeed,  I  could  nevei 
give  my  consent  to  it,  that's  certain." 

"  So  I  told  the  governor,  father;  but  still  he  would  have 
it  there  was  a  fine  opening  in  Philadelphia,  and  that  I  would 
fill  it  so  exactly,  that  nothing  could  be  wanting  to  insure 
your  approbation  but  a  clear  understanding  of  it.  And  to 
that  end  he  has  written  you  a  letter." 

4i  A  letter,  child!  a  letter  from  governor  Keith  to  me!" 

"  Yes,  father,  here  it  is." 

With  great  eagerness  the  old  gentleman  took  it  from  Ben; 
and  drawing  his  spectacles,  read  it  over  and  over  again  with 
much  eagerness.  When  he  was  done  he  lifted  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  while  in  the  motion  of  his  lips  and  change  of  coun- 
tenance, Ben  could  clearly  see  that  the  soul  of  his  father 
was  breathing  an  ejaculation  of  praise  to  God  on  his  account. 
Soon  as  his  Te  Deum  was  finished,  he  turned  to  Ben  with 
a  countenance  bright  with  holy  joy,  and  said,  "  Ben,  I've 
cause  to  be  happy;  my  son,  I've  cause  to  be  happy  indeed. 
O  how  differently  have  things  turned  out  with  you !  God's 
blessed  name  be  praised  for  it,  how  differently  have  they 
turned  out  to  what  I  dreaded !  I  was  afraid  you  were  gone 
a  poor  vagabond,  on  the  seas  ;  but  instead  of  that  you  had 
fixed  yourself  in  one  of  the  finest  cities  in  the  country.  I 
was  afraid  to  see  you;  yes,  my  dear  child,  I  was  afraid  to 
see  vou,  lest  I  should  see  you  clad  in  the  mean  garb  of  a 
poor  sailor  boy;  but  here  I  behold  you  clad  in  the  dress  of  a 
gentleman!  I  trembled  lest  you  had  been  degrading  yourself 
into  the  low  company  of  the  profane  and  worthless;  and  lo! 
you  have  been  all  the  time  exalting  yourself  into  the  high  so- 
ciety of  great  men  and  governors.  And  all  this  in  so  short  a 
time,  and  in  a  way  most  honourable  to  yourself,  and  therefore 
most  delightful  to  me,  I  mean  by  your  virtues  and  your  close 
attention  to  the  duties  of  a  most  useful  profession.  Go  on,  my 
son,  go  on!  and  may  God  Almighty,  who  has  given  you  wis- 
dom to  begin  so  glorious  a  course,grant  you  fortitude  to  per- 
severe in  it!" 

Ben  thanked  his  father  for  the  continuance  of  his  love  and 
solicitude  for  him;  and  he  told  him  moreover,  that  one  princi- 
pal thing  that  had  stirred  him  up  to  act  as  he  had  done,  was 
the  joy  which  he  knew  he  should  be  giving  him  thereby;  as 
also  the  great  trouble  which  he  knew  a  contrary  conduct 
would  have  brought  upon  him.  Here  his  father  tenderly 
embraced  him,  and  said,  "Blessed  be  God  for  giving  me 
such  a  son!    I  have  always,  Ben,  fed  myself  with  hopes  "f 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


great  tilings  from  you.  And  now  I  have  the  joy  to  say  my 
hopes  were  not  in  vain.  Yes,  glory  to  God,  I  trust  my  precious 
hopes  of  you  were  not  in  vain."    Then*  after  making  a  short 

fmuse,  as  from  fullness  of  joy,  he  went  on,  "but  as  to  this 
etter,  my  son;  this  same  letter  here  from  governor  Keith; 
though  nothing  was  ever  more  flattering  to  you,  yet  depend 
upon  it,  Ben,  it  will  never  do;  at  least  not  yet  awhile. — The 
duties  of  the  place  are  too  numerous,  child,  and  difficult  for 
any  but  one  who  has  had  many  more  years  of  experience 
than  you  have  had." 

"  Well  then,  father,  what's  to  be  done,  for  I  know  that  the 
governor  is  so  very  anxious  to  get  me  into  this  place,  that 
he  will  hardly  be  said  nay?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy,  we  must  still  decline  it,  for  all  that: 
not  only  because  from  your  very  unripe  age  and  inexperience, 
it  may  involve  you  in  ruin;  but  also  because  it  actually  is 
not  in  your  power.  It  is  true  the  governor,  from  his  letter, 
appears  to  have  the  greatest  friendship  in  the  world  for  you; 
but  yet,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  he  would  advance  funds 
to  set  you  up.  O  no,  my  dear  boy,  that's  entirely  out  of 
the  question.  The  governor,  though  perhaps  rich,  has  no 
doubt  too  many  poor  friends  and  relations  hanging  on  him, 
for  you  to  expect  any  thing  from  that  quarter.  And  as  to 
myself,  Ben,  with  all  my  love  for  you,  it  is  not  in  my  power 
to  assist  you  in  such  an  affair.  My  family  you  know,  is  very 
large,  and  the  profits  of  my  trade  but  small,  insomuch  that 
at  the  end  of  the  year  there  is  nothing  left.  And  indeed 
I  never  can  be  sufficiently  thankful  to  God  for  that  health 
and  blessing  which  enables  me  to  feed  and  clothe  them  every 
year  so  plentifully." 

Seeing  Ben  look  rather  serious,  the  old  gentleman,  in  a 
livelier  tone,  resumed  his  speech,  "Yes,  Ben,  all  this  is  very 
true;  butyet  let  us  not  be  disheartened.  Although  we  have 
no  funds  now,  yet  a  noble  supply  is  at  hand." 

"  Where,  father,"  said  Ben,  roused  up,  "  where?" 
"Why,  in  your  own  virtues,  Ben,  in  your  own  virtues 
my  boy — There  are  the  noblest  funds  that  God  can  bestow 
on  a  young  man.  All  other  funds  may  easily  be  drained  by 
our  vices  and  leave  us  poor  indeed.  But  the  virtues  are 
fountains  that  never  fail:  they  are  indeed  the  true  richer 
and  honours,  only  by  other  names.  Only  persevere,  my 
son,  in  the  virtues,  as  you  have  already  so  bravely  begun, 
and  the  grand  object  is  gained.  By  the  time  you  reach 
twenty-one,  for  every  friend  that  you  now  have,  you  wil 


60 


THE  LIFE  OF 


nave  ten;  and  for  every  dollar  an  hundred  ;  and  with  these 
you  will  make  thousands  more.  Thus,  under  God,  you  will 
have  the  glory  to  be  the  artificer  of  your  own  fame  and  for- 
tune: and  that  will  bring  ter  thousand  times  more  honou* 
and  happiness,  to  you,  Ben,  than  all  the  money  that  gover- 
nors and  fathers  could  ever  give  you." 

Ben's  countenance  brightened  as  his  father  uttered  this; 
then  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  as  of  strong  hope  that  such  great 
things  might  one  day  be  realized,  he  said, fc*  Well  father,  God 
only  knows  what  1  am  to  come  to;  but  this  I  know,  that  1 
feel  in  myself  a  determination  to  do  my  best." 
"I  believe  you  do,  my  son,  and  I  thank  God  most  heartily 
that  I  have  such  good  reason  to  believe  you  do.  And  when 
I  consider,  on  the  one  hand,  what  a  fine  field  for  fame  and 
fortune  this  new  country  presents  to  young  men  of  talents 
and  enterprise:  and  on  the  other  hand,  what  wonders  you, 
a  poor  unknown  and  unfriended  boy  have  done  in  Philadel- 
phia, in  only  six  months,  I  feel  transported  at  the  thought 
of  what  you  may  yet  attain  before  my  gray  hairs  descend  to 
the  grave.  Who  knows,  Ben,  for  God  is  good,  my  son, 
who  knows  but  that  a  fate  like  that  of  young  Joseph,  whom 
his  brethren  drove  into  Egypt,  may  be  in  reserve  for  your 
And  who  knows  but  that  old  Jacob's  joys  may  be  mine?  that 
like  him,  after  all  my  anxieties  on  your  account,  I  may  yet 
hear  the  name  of  my  youngest  son,  my  beloved  Benjamin, 
coming  up  from  the  South,  perfumed  with  praise  for  his 
great  virtues  and  services  to  his  country?  Then  when  I 
hear  the  sound  of  his  fame  rising  from  that  distant  land,  like 
the  pleasant  thunders  of  summer  before  refreshing  showers, 
and  remember  how  he  used  to  stand  a  little  prattling  boy 
by  my  side,  in  his  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  locks  filling  the 
candle  moulds,  or  twisting  the  snow  white  cotton  wicks  with 
nis  tender  fingers,  O  how  will  such  remembrance  lighten 
up  the  dark  evening  of  my  days,  and  cause  my  setting  sun 
to  go  down  in  joy!" 

He  spoke  this  in  tones  so  melting,  that  Ben,  who  was  sit- 
ting by  his  father's  side,  fell  with  his  face  on  his  bosom, 
without  saying  a  word.  The  fond  parent,  hearing  him  sob, 
tenderly  embraced  him,  and  with  a  voice  broken  with  sighs, 
went  on,  "  Yes,  my  son,  the  measure  of  my  joys  will  then 
be  full.  I  shall  have  nothing  to  detain  me  any  longer  in  this 
vale  of  troubles,  but  shall  gladly  breathe  out  my  life  in  praise 
to  God  for  this  h*s  last,  his  crowning  act  of  goodness — for 
this  his  blessing  me  in  my  son." 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


01 


After  a  moment's  pause,  the  feelings  of  both  being  too 
delicious! y  affected  for  speech,  lien  gently  raised  his  face 
from  his  father's  bosom,  and  with  his  eves  yet  red  and  wet 
with  tears,  tenderly  looking  at  him,  said,  ki  I  would  to  God, 
father,  you  would  go  and  live  in  Philadelphia." 

44  Why  so,  my  son?" 

44  Because,  I  don't  want  ever  to  part  with  you,  father: 
and  T  am,  you  know,  obliged  to  go  back  to  Philadelphia  im- 
mediately." 

44  Not  immediately,  my  son,  I  cannot  let  you  go  from  me 
immediately." 

"Father,  I  would  never  go  from  you,  if  I  could  help  it; 
but  I  must  be  doing  something  to  make  good  your  fond  hopes 
of  me;  and  I  can't  stay  here." 

•  Why  not,  my  son?" 

44  Father,  1  can't  stay  with  those  who  hate  me;  and  you 
know  that  brother  James  hates  me  very  much." 

44  0!  he  does  not  hate  you,  I  hope,  my  son." 

46  Yes,  he  does,  father,  indeed  he  does;  because  I  only 
differed  from  him  in  opinion  and  ventured  to  reason  with 
him,  he  kindled  into  passion  and  abused  me  even  to  blows, 
though  I  was  in  the  right,  as  you  told  him  afterwards.  And 
because  I  told  him  I  did  not  think  he  acted  the  part  of  a  bro- 
ther by  me  in  wishing  to  make  me  a  slave  so  many  years,  he 
went  about  town  and  set  all  the  printers  against  me,  and 
thus  drove  me  away  from  home,  and  from  you,  my  father, 
whom  I  so  much  love.  And  just  now,  when  I  went  to  his 
ofiice  to  see  him,  instead  of  running  to  meet  me  and  rejoicing 
to  see  me  returned  safe  and  sound  and  so  well  dressed  and 
a  plenty  of  money  in  my  pocket,  he  would  not  even  speak 
to  me,  but  looked  as  dark  and  angry  as  though  he  would  have 
torn  me  to  pieces.  And  yet  he  can  turn  up  his  eyes,  and 
make  long  prayers  and  graces,  and  talk  a  great  deal  about 
Jesus  Christ!" 

The  old  man  here  shook  his  head  with  a  deep  groan,  while 
Ben  thus  went  on,  44  No,  father,  I  can't  stay  here;  I  must  be 
going  back  to  Philadelphia  and  to  my  good  friend  governor 
Keith;  for  I  long  to  be  realizing  all  the  great  hopes  that  you 
have  been  forming  of  me.  And  should  God  but  give  me  a 
good  settlement  in  Philadelphia,  then  you  will  come  and 
live  with  me.  O  say,  my  father,  wont  you  come  and  live 
with  me?" 

Ben  spoke  this,  looking  up  to  his  father  with  that  joy  of 
6 


62 


THE  LIFE  OF 


filial  love  sparkling  in  his  youthful  eyes  which  made  trim  look 
like  all  that  we  fancy  of  angels. 

The  old  man  embraced  him  and  said,  "  I  will,  my  son,  I 
will;  but  stay  with  me  a  little  while,  at  the  least  three  days, 
and  then  you  may  depart."  Ben  consenting  to  this,  the  old 
gentleman  wrote  a  polite  letter  to  governor  Keith,  thanking 
him  very  heartily  for  that  he,  so  great  a  man,  should  have 
paid  such  attentions  to  his  poor  boy:  but  at  the  same  time 
begged  his  pardon  for  declining  to  do  any  thing  for  him,  not 
only  because  he  had  very  little  in  his  power  to  do;  but  also 
because  he  thought  him  too  young  to  be  intrusted  with  the 
conduct  of  an  enterprise  that  required  much  more  experience 
than  he  possessed. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Of  the  three  days  which  Ben,  as  we  have  seen  above,  had 
consented  to  »tay  at  home,  he  spent  the  chiefest  part  with 
his  father,  in  his  old  candle  manufactory.  ?Tis  true,  this 
nappy  sire,  whose  natural  affection  for  Ben  as  a  son,  was 
now  exalted  into  the  highest  respect  for  him  as  a  youth  of 
talents  and  virtues;  and  perhaps  too,  looking  up  to  him  as  a 
young  mountain  oak,  whose  towering  arms  would  soon  pro- 
tect the  parent  tree,  insisted  that  Ben  should  not  stay  in  that 
dirty  place,  as  he  called  it.  But  knowing  that  his  father 
could  not  be  spared  from  his  daily  labour,  Ben  insisted  to  be 
with  him  in  the  old  shop,  and  to  assist  in  his  labours,  re- 
minding his  father  how  sweetly  the  time  passes  away  when 
at  work  and  conversing  with  those  we  love.  His  father  at 
length  consented:  and  those  three  days,  now  spent  with  Ben, 
were  the  happiest  days  he  had  spent  for  a  long  time.  His 
aged  bosom  was  now  relieved  from  his  six  months'  load  of 
fears  and  anxieties  about  this  beloved  child;  nor  only  so, 
but  this  beloved  child,  shining  in  a  light  of  his  own  virtues, 
was  now  with  him,  and  as  a  volunteer  of  lilial  love  was  min- 
gling in  his  toils — eagerly  lending  his  youthful  strength  to 
assist  him  in  packing  and  boxing  his  candles  and  soap; 
while  his  sensible  conversation,  heightened  all  the  time 
by  the  charm  of  that  voice  and  those  eyes  that  had  ever 
been  so  dear  to  him,  touched  his  heart  with  a  sweetness  ai 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


fr3 


expressible,  and  made  the  happy  hours  fly  away  as  on  angels' 
wings. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day,  as  they  were  returning 
from  dinner,  walking  down  the  garden,  at  the  foot  of  which 
the  factory  stood,  the  old  gentleman  lifting  his  eyes  to  the 
sun,  suddenly  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  put  on  a  melancholy 
look. 

44  High,  father!"  said  Ben,  44  I  see  no  cloud  over  the  sun 
that  we  should  fear  a  change  of  weather." 

44  No,  Ben,  there  is.no  cloud  over  the  sun,  but  still  his 
beams  throw  a  cloud  over  my  spirits.  They  put  me  in  mind 
that  I  shall  walk  here  to-morrow,  but  with  no  son  by  my 
side!" 

The  idea  was  mournful:  and  more  so  by  the  tender  look 
and  plaintive  tones  in  which  it  was  conveyed. — It  wrung  the 
heart  of  Ben,  who  in  silence  glanced  his  eyes  on  his  father. 
It  was  that  tender  glance  of  sorrowing  love  which  quick- 
est reaches  the  heart  and  stirs  up  all  its  yearnings.  The 
old  gentleman  felt  the  meaning  of  his  son's  looks.  They 
seemed  to  say  to  him,  44  O  my  father,  must  we  part  to-mor- 
row ?" 

44  Yes,  Ben,  we  part  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  never  to  meet 
again!" 

After  a  short  pause,  with  a  sigh,  he  thus  resumed  his 
speech — 44  Then,  O  my  son,  what  a  wretch  were  man  with- 
out religion?  Yes,  Ben,  without  the  hopes  of  immortality, 
how  much  better  he  had  never  been  born?  Without  these, 
his  noblest  capacities  were  but  the  greater  curses.  The  more 
delightful  his  friendships  the  more  dreadful  the  thought 
they  may  be  extinguished  for  ever;  and  the  gayer  his  pros- 
pects the  deeper  his  gloom,  that  endless  darkness  may  so 
quickly  cover  all.  We  were  yesterday  feeding  fond  hopes,  my 
son;  we  were  yesterday  painting  bright  castles  in  the  air: 
you  were  to  be  a  great  man  and  I  a  happy  father.  But  alas! 
this  is  the  last  day,  my  child,  that  we  may  ever  see  each 
other  again.  And  the  sad  reverse  of  all  this  may  even  now 
be  at  the  door;  when  I,  instead  of  hearing  of  my  son's  glory 
in  Philadelphia,  may  hear  that  he  is  cold  in  his  grave. 
And  when  you,  returning — after  years  of  virtuous  toils,  re- 
turning laden  with  riches  and  honours  for  your  happy  father 
to  share  in,  may  see  nothing  of  that  father  but  the  tomb  that 
covers  his  dust." 

Seeing  the  moisture  in  Ben's  eyes,  the  old  gentleman, 
with  a  voice  rising  to  exultation,  thus  went  on,  44  Yes,  Beu* 


THE  LIFE  OF 


this  may  soon  be  the  case  with  us,  my  child;  the  dark  cur- 
tain of  our  separation  soon  may  drop,  and  your  cheeks  or 
mine  be  flooded  with  sorrows.  But  thanks  be  to  God,  that 
curtain  will  rise  again,  and  open  to  our  view  those  scenes 
of  happiness,  one  glance  at  which  is  sufficient  to  start  the 
tear  of  transport  into  our  eyes.  Yes,  Ben,  religion  assures 
us  of  all  this;  religion  assures  us  that  this  life  is  but  the 
morning  of  our  existence — that  there  is  a  glorious  eternity 
beyond — and  that  to  the  penitent,  death  is  but  the  passage  to 
that  happy  life  where  they  shall  soon  meet  again  to  part  no 
more,  but  to  congratulate  their  mutual  felicities  for  ever 
Then,  O  my  son,  lay  hold  of  religion,  and  secure  an  in- 
terest in  those  blessed  hopes  that  contribute  so  much  to  the 
virtues  and  the  joys  of  life." 

"  Father,"  said  Ben  with  a  sigh,  "  I  know  that  many  peo- 
ple here  in  Boston  think  I  never  had  any  religion;  or,  that 
if  I  had  I  have  apostatized  from  it." 

"  God  forbid!  But  whence,  my  son,  could  these  preju- 
dices have  arisen?" 

"  Why,  father,  I  have  for  some  time  past  discovered  that 
there  is  no  effect  without  a  cause.  These  prejudices  have 
been  the  effect  of  my  youthful  errors.  You  remember  fa- 
ther, the  old  story  of  the  pork,  don't  you?" 

ik  No,  child;  what  is  it,  for  I  have  forgotten  it?" 

"  I  thought  so,  father,  I  thought  you  had  been  so  good  as 
to  forget  it.    But  I  have  not,  nor  ever  shall  forget  it." 

"  What  is  it,  Ben?" 

a  Why,  father,  when  our  pork,  one  fall,  lay  salted  and 
ready  for  the  barrel,  I  begged  you  to  say  grace  over  it  all  at 
once;  adding  that  it  would  do  as  well  and  save  a  great  deal 
of  time" 

"  Pshaw,Ben,  such  a  trifle  as  that,  and  in  a  child  too,  can- 
not be  remembered  against  you  now." 

"  Yes,  father,  I  am  afraid  it  is.  All  are  not  so  loving, 
and  so  forgetful  of  my  errors  as  you.  It  was  at  the  time  in- 
serted in  the  Boston  News  Letter,  and  is  now  recollected 
to  the  discredit  of  my  religion.  And  they  have  a  prejudice 
against  me  on  another  account.  While  I  lived  with  you, 
father,  you  always  took  me  to  meeting  with  you;  but  when 
[  left  you  and  went  to  live  with  my  brother  James,  I  often 
neglected  going  to  meeting;  preferring  to  stay  at  home  and 
read  my  books." 

" 1  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  Ben;  very  sorrv  that  you  could 
neglect  the  preachings  of  Christ." 


OK.  FU.ANKLIN. 


65 


«  Fainer,  I  never  neglected  them.  I  look  on  the  preach- 
ing of  Christ  as  the  finest  system  of  morality  in  the  world; 
and  his  parables,  such  as  "The  Prodigal  Son — "the  Good 
Samaritan" — "the  Lost  Sheep,"  &c.  as  models  of  divine 
goodness.  And  if  I  could  only  hear  a  preacher  take  these 
for  his  texts,  and  paint  them  in  those  rich  colours  they  are 
capable  of,  I  would  never  stay  from  meeting.  But  now, 
father,  when  I  go,  instead  of  those  benevolent  preachings 
and  parables  which  Christ  so  delighted  in,  I  hardly  ever  hear 
any  thing  but  lean,  .chaffy  discourses  about  the  Trinity, 
and  Baptisms,  and  Elections,  and  Reprobations,  and 
Final  Perseverances,  and  Covenants,  and  a  thousand 
other  such  things  which  do  not  strike  my  fancy  as  religion 
at  all,  because  not  in  the  least  calculated,  as  I  think,  to 
sweeten  and  ennoble  men's  natures,  and  make  them  love  and 
do  good  to  one  another." 

"  There  is  too  much  truth  in  your  remark,  Ben;  and  I 
have  often  been  sorry  that  our  preachers  lay  such  stress  on 
these  things,  and  do  not  stick  closer  to  the  preachings  of 
Christ." 

"  Stick  closer  to  them,  father!  O  no,  to  do  them  justice, 
sir,  we  must  not  charge  them  with  not  sticking  to  the  text, 
for  they  never  take  Christ  for  their  text,  but  some  dark  pas- 
sage out  of  the  prophets  or  apostles,  which  will  better  suit 
their  gloomy  education.  Or  if  they  should,  by  some  lucky  hit, 
honour  Christ  for  a  text,  they  quickly  give  him  the  go-by 
and  lug  in  Calvin  or  some  other  angry  doctor;  and  then  in 
place  of  the  soft  showers  of  Gospel  pity  on  sinners,  we  have 
nothing  but  the  dreadful  thunderings  of  eternal  hate,  with 
the  unavailing  screams  of  little  children  in  hell  not  a  span 
long!  Now,  father,  as  I  do  not  look  on  such  preaching  as 
this  to  be  any  ways  pleasing  to  the  Deity  or  profitable  to 
man,  I  choose  to  stay  at  home  and  read  my  books;  and  this 
is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  why  my  brother  James  and  the 
council-men  here  of  Boston  think  that  1  have  no  religion." 

"  Your  strictures  on  some  of  our  ministers,  my  son,  are 
in  rather  a  strong  style:  but  still  there  is  too  much  truth  in 
them  to  be  denied.  However,  as  to  what  your  brother  James 
and  the  council  think  of  you,  it  is  of  little  consequen  ce,  pro- 
vided you  but  possess  true  religion*" 

"  Aye,  True  Religion,  father,  is  another  thing;  and  I 
should  like  to  possess  it.  But  as  to  such  religion  as  theirs, 
I  must  confess,  father,  I  never  had  and  never  wish  to 
have  it." 

6* 


66 


THE  LIFE  OF 


14  But  what  do  you  mean  by  their  religion,  my  son?" 

"  Why,  1  mean,  lather,  a  religion  of  gloomy  forms  and 
notions,  that  have  no  tendency  to  make  men  good  and  happy, 
either  in  themselves  or  to  others." 

"  So  then,  my  son,  you  make  maris  happiness  the  end  of 
religion." 

66  Certainly  I  do,  father." 

"  Our  catechisms,  Ben,  make  God's  glory  the  end  of  re- 
ligion." 

"  That  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  father;  as  the  framers 
of  the  catechisms,  I  suppose,  placed  God's  glory  in  the  hap- 
piness of  man." 

"  But  why  do  you  suppose  that  so  readily,  Ben?" 

"  Because,  father,  all  wise  workmen  place  their  glory  in 
the  perfection  of  their  works.  The  gunsmith  glories  in  his 
rifle,  when  she  never  misses  her  aim;  the  clockmaker  glories  in 
his  clock  when  she  tells  the  time  exactly.  They  thus  glory, 
because  their  works  answer  the  ends  for  which  they  were 
made.  Now  God,  who  is  wiser  than  all  workmen,  had,  no 
doubt,  his  ends  in  making  man.  But  certainly  he  could  not 
have  made  him  with  a  view  of  getting  any  thing  from  him, 
seeing  man  has  nothing  to  give.  And  as  God,  From  his  own 
infinite  riches,  has  a  boundless  power  to  give^  and  from  his 
infinite  benevolence,  must  have  an  equal  delight  in  giving,  I 
can  see  no  end  so  likely  for  his  making  man  as  to  make  him 
happy.    I  think,  father,  all  this  looks  quite  reasonable." 

"  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure,  Ben,  it  does  look  very  reasonable 
indeed." 

"  Well  then,  father,  since  all  wise  workmen  glory  in  their 
works  when  they  answer  the  ends  for  which  they  designed 
them, God  must  glory  in  the  happiness  of  man,  that  being  the 
end  for  which  he  made  him." 

"This  seems,  indeed,  Ben,  to  be  perfectly  agreeable  to 
reason." 

46  Yes,  sir,  not  only  to  reason,  but  to  nature  too:  for  even 
nature,  I  think,  father,  in  all  her  operations,  clearly  teaches 
that  God  must  take  an  exceeding  glory  in  our  happiness;  for 
what  else  could  have  led  him  to  build  for  us  such  a  noble 
world  as  this;  adorned  with  so  much  beauty;  stored  with  such 
treasures;  peopled  with  so  many  fair  creatures;  and  lighted 
up  as  it  is  with  such  gorgeous  luminaries  by  day  and  by 
night?" 

ul  am  glad,  my  son,  1  touched  on  this  subject  of  religion 
in  the  way  I  did;  your  mode  of  thinking  and  reasoning  on 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


it  pleases  me  greatly.  But  now  taking  all  this  for  granted, 
what  is  still  your  idea  of  the  true  religion?" 

"  Why,  father,  if  God  thus  places  his  glory  in  the  happi- 
ness of  man,  does  it  not  follow  that  the  most  acceptable 
thing  that  man  can  do  for  God,  or  in  other  words,  that  the 
true  religion  of  man  consists  in  his  so  living,  as  to  attain  the 
highest  possible  perfection  and  happiness  of  his  nature,  that 
being  the  chief  end  and  glory  of  the  Deity  in  creating  him?" 

"  Well,  but  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?" 

"Certainly,  father,  by  imitating  the  Deity." 

"By  imitating  him,  child!  but  how  are  we  to  imitate 
him?" 

"  In  his  goodness,  father." 

"  But  why  do  you  pitch  on  his  goodness  rather  than  on 
any  other  of  his  attributes?" 

*  Because,  father,  this  seems,  evidently,  the  prince  of  all 
his  other  attributes,  and  greater  than  all." 

"  Take  care  child,  that  you  do  not  blaspheme.  How  can 
one  of  God's  attributes  be  greater  than  another,  when  all  are 
infinite?" 

"  Why,  father,  must  not  that  which  moves  be  greater  than 
that  which  is  moved?" 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  by  that,  Ben?" 

"  I  mean,  father,  that  the  power  and  wisdom  of  the  Deity, 
though  both  unspeakably  great,  would  probably  stand  still 
and  do  nothing  for  men,  were  they  not  moved  to  it  by  his 
goodness.  His  goodness  then,  which  comes  and  puts  his 
power  and  wisdom  into  motion,  and  thus  fills  heaven  and 
earth  with  happiness,  must  be  the  greatest  of  all  his  attri- 
butes." 

" 1  don't  know  what  to  say  to  that, Ben;  certainly  his  power 
and  wisdom  must  be  very  great  too." 

"  Yes,  father,  they  are  very  great  indeed:  but  still  they 
seem  but  subject  to  his  greater  benevolence  which  enlists  them 
in  its  service  and  constantly  gives  them  its  own  delightful 
work  to  do.  For  example,  father,  the  wisdom  and  power  of 
the  Deity  can  do  any  thing,  but  his  benevolence  takes 
care  that  they  shall  do  nothing  but  for  good.  The  power 
and  wisdom  of  the  Deity  could  have  made  changes  both  in  the 
earth  and  heavens  widely  different  from  their  present  state. 
They  could,  for  instance,  have  placed  the  sun  a  great  deal 
farther  off' or  a  great  deal  nearer  to  us.  But  then  in  the  first 
case  we  should  have  been  frozen  to  icicles,  and  in  the  second 
scorched  to  cinders.    The  power  of  the  Deity  could  have 


08 


THE  LIFE  OF 


<>iven  a  tenfold  force  to  the  winds,  but  then  no  tree  couid 
have  stood  on  the  land*  and  no  ship  could  have  sailed  on  the 
seas.  The  power  of  the  Deity  could  also  have  made  changes 
as  great  in  all  other  parts  of  nature;  it  could  have  made 
every  fish  as  monstrous  as  a  whale,  every  bird  dreadful  as  the 
condor,  every  beast  as  vast  as  the  elephant,  and  every  tree  a& 
big  as  a  mountain.  But  then  it  must  strike  every  one  that 
these  changes  would  all  have  been  utterly  for  the  worse,  ren 
dering  these  noble  parts  of  nature  comparatively  useless  to 
us. — I  say  the  power  of  the  Deity  could  have  done  ail  this, 
and  might  have  so  done  but  for  his  benevolence,  which  would 
not  allow  such  discords,  but  has,  on  the  contrary,  established 
all  things  on  a  scale  of  the  exactest  harmony  with  the  con- 
venience and  happiness  of  man.  Now,  for  example,  father, 
the  sun,  though  placed  at  an  enormous  distance  from  us,  is 
placed  at  the  very  distance  he  should  be  for  all  the  important 
purposes  of  light  and  heat;  so  that  the  earth  and  waters,  neither 
frozen  nor  burnt,  enjoy  the  temperature  fittest  for  life  and 
vegetation.  Now  the  meadows  are  covered  with  grass;  the 
fields  with  corn;  the  trees  with  leaves  and  fruits;  present- 
ing a  spectacle  of  universal  beauty  and  plenty,  feasting  all 
senses  and  gladdening  all  hearts;  while  man,  the  favoured 
lord  of  al\  looking  around  him  amidst  the  mingled  singing  of 
birds  and  skipping  of  beasts  and  leaping  of  fishes,  is  struck 
with  wonder  at  the  beauteous  scenery,  and  gratefully  ac- 
knowledges that  benevolence  is  the  darling  attribute  of  the 
Deity." 

"  I  thank  God,  my  son,  for  giving  you  wisdom  to  reason 
in  this  way.  But  what  is  still  your  inference  from  all  this, 
as  to  true  religion?" 

<<  Why,  my  dear  father,  my  inference  is  still  in  confirma- 
tion of  my  first  answer  to  your  question  relative  to  the  true 
religion,  that  it  consists  in  our  imitating  the  Deity  in  his 
goodness.  Every  wise  parent,  wishing  to  allure  his  children 
to  any  particular  virtue,  is  careful  to  set  them  the  fairest 
examples  of  the  same,  as  knowing  that  example  is  more  pow« 
erful  than  precept.  Now  since  the  Deity,  throughout  all 
his  works,  so  invariably  employs  his  great  power  and  wis 
dom  as  the  ministers  of  his  benevolence  to  make  his  crea- 
tures happy,  what  can  this  be  for  but  an  example  to  us; 
teaching  that  if  we  wish  to  please  him — the  true  end  of  all 
religion — we  must  imitate  him  in  his  moral  goodness,  which 
if  we  would  but  all  do  as  steadily  as  he  does,  we  should  re- 
cal  the  golden  age,  and  convert  this  world  into  Paradise  " 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


69 


All  this  looks  very  fair,  Hen;  but  yet  after  all  what  are 
we  to  do  without  Faith  r" 

46  Why,  father,  as  to  Faith,  I  cannot  say;  not  knowing; 
tt*uch  about  it.  But  this  I  can  say,  that  I  am  afraid  of  any 
substitutes  to  the  moral  character  of  the  Deity.  In  short, 
sir,  I  don't  love  the  fig-leaf." 

44  Fig-leaf!  I  don't  understand  you,  child:  what  do  you 
mean  by  the  tig -leaf?" 

64  Why,  father,  we  read  in  the  Bible  that  soon  as  Adam 
had  lost  that  true  image  of  the  Deity,  his  Moral  Goodness, 
instead  of  striving  to  recover  it  again,  he  went  and  sewed 
fig-leaves  together  to  cover  himself  with." 

44  Stick  t<J  the  point,  child." 

44 1  am  to  the  point,  father.  I  mean  to  say  that  as  Adam 
sought  a  vain  fig-leaf  covering,  rather  than  the  imitation  of 
the  Deity  in  moral  goodness,  so  his  posterity  have  ever  since 
been  fond  of  running  after  fig-leaf  substitutes." 

44  Aye!  well  1  should  be  glad  to  hear  you  explain  a  little 
on  that  head,  Ben." 

44  Father,  I  don't  pretend  to  explain  a  subject  I  don't  un- 
derstand, but  I  find  in  Plutarch's  Lives  and  the  Heathen 
Antiquities,  which  I  read  in  your  old  divinity  library,  and 
which  no  doubt  give  a  true  account  of  religion  among  the 
ancients,  that  when  they  were  troubled  on  account  of  their 
crimes,  they  do  not  seem  once  to  have  thought  of  conciliating 
the  Deity  by  reformation,  and  by  acts  of  benevolence  and 
goodness,  to  be  like  him.  No,  they  appear  to  have  been  too 
much  enamoured  of  lust,  and  pride,  and  revenge,  to  relish 
moral  goodness;  such  lessons  were  too  much  against  the 
grain.  But  still  something  must  be  done  to  appease  the  Deity. 
Weil  then,  since  they  could  not  sum  up  courage  enough  to 
attempt  it  by  imitating  his  goodness,  they  would  try  it  by 
coaxing  his  vanity — they  would  build  him  grand  temples; 
and  make  him  mighty  sacrifices;  and  rich  offerings.  This  I 
am  told,  father,  was  tMir  fig-leaf." 

44  Why  this,  I  fear,  Ben,  is  a  true  bill  against  the  pool 
Heathens." 

44  Well,  I  am  sure,  father,  the  Jews  were  equally  fond  ot 
the  fig-leaf;  as  their  own  countrymen,  the  Prophets,  are  con- 
stantly charging  them.  Justice,  Mercy,  and  Truth  had,  \* 
seems,  no  charms  for  them.  They  must  have  fig-leaf  substi- 
tutes, such  as  ty  things  of  mint,  anise,  and  cummin,  au'1 
making  fc  long  prayers  in  the  streets,*  and  deep  groaning?* 
with  4  disfigured  faces  in  the  synagogues.'    If  they  )ut  did 


70 


THE  LIFE  OF 


all  this,  then  surely  they  must  be  Abraham's  children,  even 
though  they  devoured  widows'  houses." 
Here  good  old  Josias  groaned. 

44  Yes,  father,"  continued  Ben,  -'and  it  were  well  if  the 
rage  for  the  fig-leaf  stopped  with  the  Jews  and  Heathens;  but 
the  Christians  are  just  as  fond  of  substitutes  that  may  save 
them  the  labour  of  imitating  the  Deity  in  his  moral  goodness. 
It  is  true,  the  old  Jewish  hobbies,  mint,  anise,  and  cummin, 
are  not  the  hobbies  of  Christians;  but  still,  father,  you  are 
not  to  suppose  that  they  are  to  be  disheartened  for  all  that. 
Oh  no.  They  have  got  a  hobby  worth  all  of  them  put  toge- 
ther— they  have  got  Faith." 

Here  good  old 'Josias  began  to  darken;  and  logkingat  Ben 
with  great  solemnity,  said,  44  I  am  afraid,  my  son,  you  do  not 
treat  this  great  article  of  our  holy  religion  with  sufficient 
reverence." 

44  My  dear  father,"  replied  Ben  eagerly,  44  I  mean  not 
the  least  reflection  on  Faith,  but  solely  on  those  hypocrites 
who  abuse  it  to  countenance  their  vices  and  crimes." 

64  O  then,  if  that  be  your  aim,  go  on,  Ben,  go  on." 

44  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying,  not  only  the  Jews  and  Hea- 
thens, but  the  Christians  also  have  their  fig-leaf  substitutes 
for  Moral  Goodness,  Because  Christ  has  said  that  so  great 
is  the  Divine  Clemency,  that  if  even  the  worst  of  men  will 
but  have  faith  in  it  so  as  to  repent  and  amend  their  lives  by 
the  golden  law  of  4  love  and  good  works,'  they  should  be 
saved,  many  lazy  Christians  are  fond  of  overlooking  those 
excellent  conditions  4  Love  and  Good  works,'  which  con- 
stitute the  moral  image  of  the  Deity,  and  fix  upon  the  word 
Faith  for  their  salvation." 

44  Well,  but  child,  do  you  make  no  account  of  faith  ?" 

44  None,  father,  as  a  fig-leaf  cloak  of  immorality." 

44  But  is  not  faith  a  great  virtue  in  itself,  and  a  qualifica- 
tion for  heaven?" 

44 1  think  not,  sir;  I  look  on  faith  but  as  a  mean  to  begei 
that  moral  goodness,  which,  to  me,  appears  to  be  the  onlv 
qualification  for  Heaven." 

46 1  am  astonished,  child,  to  hear  you  say  that  faith  is  no* 
a  virtue  in  itself." 

44  Why,  father,  the  Bible  says  for  me  in  a  thousand 
places.  The  Bible  says  that  faith  without  good  works  in 
dead." 

44  But  does  not  the  Bible,  in  a  thousand  places,  say  that 
without  faith  no  man  can  please  God?" 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


7\ 


44 Yes,  father,  and  for  the  best  reason  in  the  world;  for 
who  can  ever  hope  to  please  the  Deity  without  his  moral 
image?  and  who  would  ever  put  himself  to  the  trouble  to 
cultivate  the  virtues  which  form  that  image,  unless  he  had  a 
belief  that  they  were  indispensible  to  the  perfection  and  hap- 
piness of  his  nature  r" 

44  So  then,  you  look  on  faith  as  no  virtue  in  itself,  and 
good  for  nothing  unless  it  exalt  men  to  the  likeness  of  God?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  as  good  for  nothing  unless  it  exalt  us  to  the 
likeness  of  God — nay,  as  worse;  as  utterly  vile  and  hypo- 
critical." 

44  And  perhaps  you  view  in  the  same  light  the  Imputed 
Righteousness,  and  the  Sacraments  of  Baptism  and  the 
Lord's  Supper." 

44  Yes,  father,  faith,  imputed  righteousness,  sacraments, 
prayers,  sermons;  all,  all  1  consider  as  mere  barren  fig-leaves 
which  will  yield  no  good  unless  they  ripen  into  the  fruits  of 
Benevolence  and  Good  Works." 

44  Well,  Ben,  'tis  well  that  you  have  taken  a  turn  to  the 
printing  business;  for  I  don't  think,  child,  that  if  you  had 
studied  divinity,  as  your  uncle  Ben  and  myself  once  wished, 
you  would  ever  have  got  a  licence  to  preach." 

"No,  father,  I  know  that  well  enough;  I  know  that 
manr  who  think  themselves  mighty  good  Christians,  are  for 
getting  to  heaven  on  easier  terms  than  imitating  the  Deity 
in  his  moral  goodness.  To  them,  faith  and  imputed  righte- 
ousness, and  sacraments,  and  sour  looks,  are  very  convenient 
things.  With  a  good  stock  of  these  they  can  easily  manage 
matters  so  as  to  make  a  little  morality  go  a  great  way.  But 
I  am  thinking  they  will  have  to  back  out  of  this  error,  other- 
wise they  will  make  as  bad  a  hand  of  their  barren  faith,  as 
the  poor  Virginia  negroes  do  of  their  boasted  freedom." 

44  God's  mercy,  child,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

44  Why,  father,  I  am  told  that  the  Virginia  negroes,  like 
our  faith-mongers,  fond  of  ease  and  glad  of  soft  substitutes  to 
hard  duties,  are  continually  sighing  for  freedom;  4  O  if  they 
had  but  freedom !  if  they  had  but  freedom !  how  happy  should 
they  be  !  They  should  not  then  be  obliged  to  work  any  more. 
Freedom  zoould  do  every  thing  for  them.  Freedom  would 
spread  soft  beds  for  them,  and  heap  their  tables  with  roast 
pigs,  squealing  out,  'come  and  eat  meS  Freedom  would  give 
them  fine  jackets,  and  rivers  of  grog,  and  mountains  of  se- 
gars  and  tobacco,  without  their  sweating  for  it.9  Well,  by 
and  by,  thev  get  their  freedom;  perhaps  by  running  away 


72 


THE,  LIFE  OF 


from  their  masters.  And  now  see  what  great  things  lias  free- 
dom done  for  them.  Why,  as  it  is  out  of  the  question  to 
think  of  work  now  they  are/ree,  they  must  give  themselves 
up  like  gentlemen,  to  visiting,  sleeping,  and  pastime.  In  a 
little  time  the  curses  of  hunger  and  nakedness  drive  them 
to  stealing  and  house-breaking,  for  which  their  backs  are 
ploughed  up  at  whipping-posts,  or  their  necks  snapped  un- 
der the  gallows!  and  all  this  because  they  must  needs  live 
easier  than  by  honest  labour,  which  would  have  crowned  their 
days  with  character  and  comfort.  So,  father,  it  is,  most  exactly 
so  it  is,  with  too  many  of  our  Faith-mongers.  They  have 
not  courage  to  practise  those  exalted  virtues  that  would  give 
them  the  moral  likeness  of  the  Deity.  Oh  no:  they  must 
get  to  heaven  in  some  easier  way.  They  have  heard  great 
things  of  faith.  Faith,  they  are  told,  has  done  wonders  for 
other  people ;  why  not  for  them?  Accordingly  they  fall  to 
work  and  after  many  a  hard  throe  of  fanaticism,  they  con- 
ceit they  have  got  faith  sure  enough.  And  now  they  are 
happy.  Like  the  poor  Virginia  negroes,  they  are  clear  of 
all  moral  working  now :  thank  God  they  can  get  to  heaven 
without  it;  yes,  and  may  take  some  indulgences,  by  the 
way, into  the  bargain.  If,  as  jovial  fellows,  they  should  waste 
their  time  and  family  substance  in  drinking  rum  and  smok- 
ing tobacco,  where's  the  harm,  aivt  they  sound  believers?  If 
they  should,  as  merchants,  sand  their  sugar,  or  water  their 
molasses,  what  great  matter  is  that?  Don't  they  keep  up 
family  prayer?  If,  as  men  of  honour,  they  should  accept  a 
challenge,  and  receive  a  shot  in  a  duel,  what  of  that?  They 
have  only  to  send  for  a  priest,  and  take  the  sacrament. 
Thus,  father,  as  freedom  has  proved  the  ruin  of  many  a  lazy 
Virginian  negro,  so  I  am  afraid  that  such  faith  as  this  has 
made  many  an  hypocritical  christian  ten  times  more  a  child 
of  the  devil  than  he  was  before." 

Good  old  Josias,  who,  while  Ben  was  speaking  at  this  rate, 
had  appeared  much  agitated,  sometimes  frowning,  sometimes 
smiling,  here  replied,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  Yes,  Ben,  this  is 
all  too  true  to  be  denied:  and  a  sad  thing  it  is  that  mankind 
should  be  so  ready,  as  you  observe,  to  go  to  heaven  in  any 
other  way  than  by  imitating  God  in  his  moral  likeness.  But 
I  rejoice  in  hope  of  you,  my  son,  that  painting  this  lamenta- 
ble depravity  in  such  strong  colours  as  you  do,  you  will  ever 
act  on  wiser  and  more  magnanimous  principles." 

"  Father,  I  don't  affect  to  be  better  than  other  young  men, 
vet  I  think  I  can  safely  say,  that  if  I  could  get  to  heaven  by 


OR.  FRANKLIN. 


playing  the  hypocrite  I  would  riot,  while  1  have  it  in  my 
choice  to  go  thither  hy  acquiring  the  virtues  that  would  give 
me  a  resemblance  to  God.  For  to  say  nothing  of  the  ex- 
ceeding honour  of  acquiring  even  the  faintest  resemblance 
of  him,  nor  yet  of  the  immense  happiness  which  it  must  af- 
ford hereafter,  I  find  that  even  here,  and  young  as  I  am,  the 
least  step  towards  it,  affords  a  greater  pleasure  than  any  thing 
else;  indeed  I  find  that  there  is  so  much  more  pleasure  in 
getting  knowledge  to  resemble  the  Creator,  than  in  living  in 
ignorance  to  resemble  brutes;  so  much  more  pleasure  in 
benevolence  and  doing  good  to  resemble  him,  than  in  hate 
and  doing  harm  to  resemble  demons,  that  I  hope  I  shall  al- 
ways have  wisdom  and  fortitude  sufficient  even  for  my  own 
sake,-  to  spend  my  life  in  getting  all  the  useful  knowledge, 
and  in  doing  all  the  little  good  I  possibly  can." 

"  God  Almighty  confirm  my  son  in  the  wise  resolutions 
which  his  grace  has  enabled  him  thus  early  to  form!" 

"  Yes,  father,  and  besides  ail  this,  when  I  look  towards 
futurity;  when  I  consider  the  nature  of  that  felicity  which 
exists  in  heaven;  that  it  is  a  felicity  flowing  from  the  smiles 
of  the  Deity  on  those  excellent  spirits  whom  his  own  ad- 
monitions have  adorned  with  the  virtues  that  resemble  him- 
self; that  the  more  perfect  their  virtues,  the  brighter  will  be 
his  smiles  upon  them,  with  correspondent  emanations  of  bliss 
that  may,  for  aught  we  know,  be  for  ever  enlarged  with  their 
ever  enlarging  understandings  and  affections;  I  say,  father, 
when  I  have  it  in  my  choice  to  attain  to  all  this  in  a  way  so 
pleasant  and  honourable  as  that  of  imitating  the  Deity  in 
wisdom  and  goodness,  should  I  not  be  worse  than  mad  to 
decline  it  on  such  terms,  and  prefer  substitutes  that  would 
tolerate  me  in  ignorance  and  vice  ?" 

"  Yes,  child,  1  think  you  would  be  mad  iadeed." 

"  Yes,  father,  especially  when  it  is  recollected,  that  if  the 
ignorant  and  vicious  could,  with  all  their  pains,  find  out 
substitutes  that  would  serve  as  passports  to  heaven,  they 
could  not  rationally  expect  a  hearty  welcome  there.  For  as 
the  Deity  delights  in  the  wise  and  good,  because  they  re- 
semble him  in  those  qualities  which  render  him  so  amiable 
and  happy,  and  would  render  all  his  creatures  so  too;  so  he 
must  proportionably  abhor  the  stupid  and  vicious,  because 
deformed  with  qualities  diametrically  opposite  to  his  own, 
and  tending  to  make  both  themselves  and  others  most  vile 
and  miserable." 

**  This  is  awfullv  true,  Ben;  for  the  Bible  tells  us,  that 
7 


?4 


THE  LIFE  OF 


the  wicked  are  an  abomination  to  the  Lord ;  but  that  tht 
righteous  are  his  delight." 

"  Yes,  father,  and  this  is  the  language  not  only  of  the 
Bible,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  grand  class  book  of  the  Deity, 
but  it  is  also  the  language  of  his  first  or  horn  book,  I  mean 
reason,  which  teaches,  that  if  *  there  be  a  God,  and  that 
there  is  all  nature  cries  aloud  through  all  her  works,  he  must 
delight  in  virtue,'  because  most  clearly  conducive  to  the  per- 
fection of  mankind;  which  must  be  the  chief  aim  and  glory 
of  the  Deity  in  creating  them.  And  for  the  same  reason  he 
must  abhor  vice,  because  tending  to  the  disgrace  and  de- 
struction of  his  creatures.  Hence,  father,  I  think  it  follows 
as  clearly  as  a  demonstration  in  mathematics,  that  if  it  were 
possible  for  bad  men,  through  faith,  ijnputed  righteousness, 
cr  any  other  leaf-covering,  to  get  to  Paradise,  so  far  from 
meeting  with  any  thing  like  cordiality  from  the  Deity,  they 
would  be  struck  speechless  at  sight  of  their  horrible  dissimi- 
larity to  him.  For  while  he  delights  above  all  things  in  giv- 
ing life,  and  the  duellist  glories  in  destroying  it;  while  he 
delights  in  heaping  his  creatures  with  good  things,  and  the 
gambler  triumphs  in  stripping  them;  while  he  delights  in 
seeing  love  and  smiles  among  brethren,  and  the  slanderer  in 
promoting  strifes  and  hatreds;  while  he  delights  in  exalting 
the  intellectual  and  moral  faculties  to  the  highest  degree  of 
heavenly  wisdom  and  virtue,  and  the  drunkard  delights  in 
polluting  and  degrading  both  below  the  brutes;  what  cordi- 
ality can  ever  subsist  between  such  opposite  natures?  Can 
infinite  purity  and  benevolence  behold  such  monsters  with 
complacency,  or  could  they  in  his  presence  otherwise  than 
be  filled  with  intolerable  pain  and  anguish,  and  fly  away  as 
weak-eyed  owls  from  the  blaze  of  the  meridian  sun  ?" 

"  Well,  Ben,  as  I  said  before,  I  am  richly  rewarded  for 
naving  drawn  you  into  this  conversation  about  religion;  your 
language  indeed  is  not  always  the  language  of  the  scrip- 
tures; neither  do  you  rest  your  hopes,  as  I  could  have  wish- 
ed, on  the  Redeemer;  but  still  your  idea  in  placing  our  quali- 
fication for  heaven  in  resembling  God  in  moral  goodness,  is 
truly  evangelical,  and  1 4*ope  you  will  one  day  become  a  great 
christian." 

"  I  thank  you,  father,  for  your  good  wishes;  but  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  never  be  the  christian  you  wish  me  to  be." 
"  What,  not  a  christian!" 

66  No,  father,  at  least  not  in  the  name;  but  in  the  nature 
\  hope  to  become  a  christian.     And  now,  father,  as  we  part 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


7h 


to  morrow,  and  there  is  a  strong  presentiment  on  my  mind 
that  it  may  be  a  long  time  before  we  meet  again,  I  beg  you 
to  believe  of  me  that  1  shall  never  lose  sight  of  my  great 
obligations  to  an  active  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  usefulness. 
This,  if  persevered  in,  will  give  me  some  humble  resemblance 
of  the  great  Author  of  my  being  in  loving  and  doing  all  the 
good  I  can  to  mankind.  And  then,  if  I  live,  I  hope,  my  dear 
father,  I  shall  give  you  the  joy  to  see  realized  some  of  the 
fond  expectations  you  have  formed  of  me.  And  if  I  should 
die,  I  shall  die  in  hope  of  meeting  you  in  some  better  world, 
where  you  will  no  more  be  alarmed  for  my  welfare,  nor  I 
grieved  to  see  you  conflicting  with  age  and  labour  and  sor- 
row: but  where  we  may  see  in  each  other  all  that  we  can 
conceive  of  what  we  call  Angels,  and  in  scenes  of  unde- 
served splendour,  dwell  with  those  enlightened  and  bene- 
volent spirits,  whose  conversation  and  perfect  virtues,  will 
for  ever  delight  us.  And  where,  to  crown  all,  we  shall  perhaps, 
at  times,  be  permitted  to  see  that  unutterable  Being, 
whose  disinterested  goodness  was  the  spring  of  all  these 
felicities." 

Thus  ended  this  curious  dialogue,  between  one  of  the  most 
amiable  parents,  and  one  of  the  most  acute  and  sagacious 
youths  that  our  country,  or  perhaps  any  other  has  ever  pro- 
duced. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  three  days  of  Ben's  promised  stay  witn  his  father 
being  expired,  the  next  morning  he  embraced  his  parents  and 
embarked  a  second  time  for  Philadelphia,  but  with  a  much 
lighter  heart  than  before,  because  he  now  left  home  with  his 
parents'  blessing,  which  they  gave  him  the  more  willingly  as 
from  the  dark  sanctified  frown  on  poor  James'  brow  they 
saw  in  him  no  disposition  towards  reconciliation. 

The  vessel  happening  to  touch  at  Newport,  Ben  gladly 
took  that  opportunity  to  visit  his  favourite  brother  John,  who 
received  him  with  great  joy.  John  was  always  of  the  mind 
that  Ben  would  one  day  or  other  become  a  great  man;  "he 
was  so  vastly  fond"  he  said,  "  of  his  hook." 

And  when  he  saw  the  elegant  size  that  Ben's  person  had 
now  attained,  and  also  his  tine  mind-illuminated  face  and 


THE  LIFE  OF 


manly  wit,  he  was  so  proud  of  him  that  he  could  not  res! 
until  he  had  introduced  him  to  all  his  friends.  Among  the  rest 
was  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Vernon,  who  was  so  pleased 
with  Ben  during  an  evening's  visit  at  his  brother's,  that  he 
gave  him  an  order  on  a  man  in  Pennsylvania  for  thirty 
pounds,  which  he  begged  he  would  collect  for  him.  Ben 
readily  accepted  the  order,  not  without  being  secretly  pleased 
that  nature  had  given  him  a  face  which  this  stranger  had  so 
readily  credited  with  thirty  pounds. 

Caressed  by  his  brother  John  and  by  his  brother  John's 
friends,  Ben  often  thought  that  if  he  were  called  on  to  point 
out  the  time  in  his  whole  life  that  had  been  spent  more 
pleasantly  than  the  rest,  he  would,  without  hesitation,  pitch 
on  this  his  three  days'  visit  to  Newport. 

But  alas !  he  has  soon  brought  to  cry  out  with  the  poet, 

"The  brightest  things  beneath  the  sky, 

Yield  but  a  glimmering  light; 
We  should  suspect  souk  danger  nigh, 

Where  we  possess  delight.'''' 

His  thirty  pound  order  from  Vernon,  was  at  first  lanked 
among  his  dear  honied  delights  enjoyed  at  Newport;  but  it 
soon  presented,  as  we  shall  see,  a  roughsting.  This  however, 
was  but  a  flea  bite  in  comparison  of  that  mortal  wound  he 
was  within  an  ace  of  receiving  from  this  same  Newport  trip. 
The  story  is  this:  Among  a  considerable  cargo  of  live  lum- 
ber which  they  took  on  board  for  Philadelphia,  were  three 
females,  a  couple  of  gay  young  damsels,  and  a  grave  old 
Quaker  lady.  Following  the  natural  bent  of  his  disposition, 
Ben  paid  great  attention  to  the  old  Quaker.  Fortunate  was  it 
for  him  that  he  did;  for  in  consequence  of  it  she  took  a  mother- 
ly interest  in  his  welfare  that  saved  him  from  a  very  ugly 
scrape.  Perceiving  that  he  was  getting  rather  too  fond  of 
the  two  young  women  above,  she  drew  him  aside  one  day, 
and  with  the  looks  and  speech  of  a  mother,  said,  "  Young 
man,  I  am  in  pain  for  thee:  thou  hast  no  parent  to  watch 
over  thy  conduct,  and  thou  seemest  to  be  quite  ignorant  of 
the  world  and  the  snares  to  which  youth  is  exposed.  I  pray 
thee  rely  upon  what  I  tell  thee. — These  are  women  of  bad 
character;  I  perceive  it  in  all  their  actions.  If  thou  dost 
not  take  care  they  will  lead  thee  into  danger!!" 

As  he  appeared  at  first  not  to  think  so  ill  of  them  as  she 
did,  the  old  lady  related  of  them  many  things  she  had  seen 
and  heard,  and  which  had  escaped  his  attention,  but  which 
convinced  him  she  was  in  the  right.  He  thanked  her  foi 
such  good  advice,  and  promised  to  follow  it. 


Oft.  FRANKLIN. 


77 


On  their  arrival  at  New-York  the  "iris  told  him  where 
they  lived,  and  invited  him  to  come  and  see  them.  Their 
eyes  kindled  such  a  glow  along  his  youthful  veins  that  he 
was  on  the  point  of  melting  into  consent.  But  the  motherly 
advice  of  his  old  quaker  friend  happily  enming  to  his  aid, 
revived  his  wavering  virtue,  and  fixed  him  in  the  resolution, 
though  much  against  the  grain,  not  to  go.  It  was  a  most 
blessed  thing  for  him  that  he  did  not;  for  the  captain  miss- 
ing a  silver  spoon  and  some  other  things  from  the  cabin,  and 
knowing  these  women  to  be  prostitutes,  procured  a  search 
warrant,  and  finding  his  goods  in  their  possession,  had  them 
brought  to  the  whipping- post. 

As  God  would  have  it,  Ben  happened  to  fall  in  with  the 
constable  and  crowd  who  were  taking  them  to  whip.  He 
would  fain  have  run  off.  But  there  was  a  drawing  of  sym- 
pathy towards  them  which  he  could  not  resist:  so  on  he  went 
with  the  rest.  He  said  afterwards  that  it  was  well  he  did: 
for  when  he  beheld  these  poor  devils  tied  up  to  the  stake, 
and  also  their  sweet  faces  distorted  with  terror  and  pain,  and 
heard  their  piteous  screams  under  the  strokes  of  the  cow- 
hide on  their  bleeding  backs,  he  could  not  help  melting  into 
tears,  at  the  same  time  saying  to  himself — now  had  I  but 
yielded  to  the  allurements  of  these  poor  creatures,  and  made 
myself  an  accessary  to  their  crimes  and  sufferings,  ivhai 
would  now  be  my  feelings  /" 

From  the  happy  escape  which  he  had  thus  made  through 
the  seasonable  advice  of  the  good  old  quaker  lady  he  learn- 
ed that  acts  of  this  sort  hold  the  first  place  on  the  list  of 
charities:  and  entered  it  as  a  resolution  on  his  journal  that 
he  would  imitate  it  and  do  all  in  his  power  to  open  the  eyes 
of  all,  but  especially  of  the  young,  to  a  timely  sense  of  the 
follies  and  dangers  that  beset  them.  How  well  he  kept  his 
promise,  will,  'tis  likely,  gentle  reader,  be  remembered  by 
thousands  when  you  and  I  are  forgotten. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

On  the  arrival  ot  the  vessel  at  New- York,  Ben  went  up 
to  a  tavern,  and  lo!  wrho  should  he  first  cast  his  eyes  on  there, 
but  his  old  friend  Collins,  of  Boston! 

Collins  had,  it  seems,  been  so  charmed  with  Ben's  account 

7* 


78 


THE  LIFE  OF 


of  Philadelphia,  that  he  came  to  the  determination  to  try  hia 
fortune  there  also;  and  learning  that  Ben  was  shortly  to  re- 
turn by  the  way  of  New- York,  he  had  jumped  into  the  first 
vessel,  and  was  there  before  him,  waiting  his  arrival.  Great 
was  the  joy  of  Ben  at  the  sight  of  his  friend  Collins,  for  it 
drew  after  it  a  train  of  the  most  pleasant  recollections. — But 
who  can  describe  his  feelings,  when  flying  to  embrace  thai 
long  esteemed  youth,  he  beheld  him  now  risen  from  his 
chair  equally  eager  for  the  embrace,  but  alas!  only  able  to 
make  a  staggering  step  or  two  before  down  he  came  sprawl- 
ing on  the  floor,  drunk  as  a  lord  1 

To  see  a  young  man  of  his  wit — his  eloquence — his  edu 
cation — his  hitherto  unstained  character  and  high  promise 
thus  overwhelmed  by  a  worse  than  brutal  vice,  would  have 
been  a  sad  sight  to  Ben,  even  though  that  young  man  had 
been  an  entire  stranger.  But  oh !  how  tenfold  sad  to  see  such 
marks  of  ruinous  dishonour  on  one  so  dear,  and  from  whom 
ne  had  expected  so  much. 

Ben  had  just  returned  from  assisting  to  put  poor  Collins 
to  bed,  when  the  captain  of  the  vessel  which  had  brought  him 
to  New -York,  stepped  up  and  in  a  very  respectful  manner 
put  a  note  into  his  hand. — Ben  opened  it,  not  without  con- 
siderable agitation,  and  read  as  follows: — 

"  G.  Burnet's  compliments  await  young  Mr.  Franklin — 
and  should  be  glad  of  half  an  hour's  chat  with  him  over  a  glass 
of  wine." 

"  G.  Burnet!"  said  Ben,  "  who  can  that  be  ?" 

"Why,  'tis  the  governor,"  replied  the  captain  with  a 
smile.  "  I  have  just  been  to  see  him,  with  some  letters  I 
brought  for  him  from  Boston.  And  when  I  told  him  what  a 
world  of  books  you  have,  he  expressed  a  curiosity  to  see  you, 
and  begged  I  would  return  with  you  to  his  palace." 

Ben  instantly  set  oft*  with  the  captain,  but  not  without 
a  sigh  as  he  cast  a  look  back  on  the  door  of  poor  Collins' 
bed-rocm,  to  think  what  an  honour  that  wretched  young 
man  had  lost  for  the  sake  of  two  or  three  vile  gulps  of  filthy 

The  governor's  looks,  at  the  approach  of  Ben,  showed 
somewhat  of  disappointment.  He  had,  it  seems,  expected 
considerable  entertainment  from  Ben's  conversation.  But 
•'lis  fresh  and  ruddy  countenance  showed  him  so  much  youngei 
than  he  had  counted  on,  that  he  gave  up  all  his  promised  en- 
tertainment as  a  lost  hope.  He  received  Ben,  however,  with 
great  politeness,  and  after  pressing  on  him  a  glass  of  wine. 


Pag€  79. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


79 


took  him  into  an  adjoining  room,  which  was  his  library,  con. 
sisting  of  a  large  and  well-chosen  collection. 

Seeing  the  pleasure  which  sparkled  in  Ben's  eyes  as  he 
surveyed  so  many  elegant  authors,  and  thought  of  the  rich 
stores  of  knowledge  which  they  contained,  the  governor,  with 
a  smile  of  complacency,  as  on  a  young  pupil  of  science,  said 
to  him,  44  Well,  Mr-  Franklin,  T  am  told  by  the  captain  here, 
that  you  have  a  fine  collection  too." 

44  Only  a  trunk  full,  sir,"  said  Ben. 

44  A  trunk  full!"  replied  the  governor.  44  Why,  what 
use  can  you  have  for  so  many  books?  Young  people  at  your 
age  have  seldom  read  beyond  the  10th  chapter  of  Nehemiah." 

44 1  can't  boast,"  replied  Ben,  44  of  having  read  any  great 
deal  beyond  that  myself;  but  still,  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  could 
not  get  a  trunk  full  of  books  to  read  every  six  months."  At 
this,  the  governor  regarding  him  with  a  look  of  surprise,  said, 
•4  You  must  then,  though  so  young,  be  a  scholar;  perhaps  a 
teacher  of  the  languages." 

44  No  sir,"  answered  Ben,  44 1  know  no  language  but  my 
own." 

44  What,  not  Latin  nor  Greek!" 

44  No  sir,  not  a  word  of  either." 

44  Why,  don't  you  think  them  necessary?" 

44 1  don't  set  myself  up  as  a  judge.  But  I  should  not  sup- 
pose them  necessary." 

44  Aye!  well,  I  should  like  to  hear  your  reasons." 

4k  Why,  sir,  I  am  not  competent  to  give  reasons  that  may 
satisfy  a  gentleman  of  your  learning,  but  the  following  are 
{he  reasons  with  which  I  satisfy  myself.  I  look  on  lan- 
guages, sir,  merely  as  arbitrary  sounds  of  characters,  where- 
by men  communicate  their  ideas  to  each  other.  Now,  if  I 
already  possess  a  language  which  is  capable  of  conveying 
more  ideas  than  I  shall  ever  acquire,  were  it  not  wiser  in 
me  to  improve  my  time  in  getting  sense  through  that  one 
language,  than  waste  it  in  getting  mere  sounds  through  fifty 
languages,  even  if  I  could  learn  as  many?" 

Here  the  governor  paused  a  moment,  though  not  without 
a  little  red  on  his  cheeks,  for  having  only  a  minute  before  put 
Ben  and  the  10th  chapter  of  Nehemiah  so  close  together. 
However,  catching  a  new  idea,  he  took  another  start. 
f<  Well,  but,  my  dear  sir,  you  certainly  differ  from  the 
teamed  world,  which  is,  you  know,  decidedly  in  favour  of 
the  languages." 

44 1  would  not  wish  wantonly  to  differ  from  the  learned 


THE  LIFE  OF 


world,"  said  Ben,  "  especiall  y  when  they  maintain  opinions 
that  .seem  to  be  founded  on  truth.  But  when  this  is  not  the 
case,  to  differ  from  them  I  have  ever  thought  my  duty ;  and 
especially  since  I  studied  Locke." 

Locke!"  cried  the  governor  with  surprise,  "you  studied 
Locke .'" 

64  Yes,  sir,  I  studied  Locke  on  the  Understanding  three 
years  ago,  when  I  was  thirteen." 

"  You  amaze  me,  sir.  You  studied  Locke  on  the  Under- 
standing at  thirteen!" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did." 

64  Well,  and  pray  at  what  college  did  you  study  Locke  at 
thirteen;  for  at  Cambridge  college  in  Old  England,  where  I 
got  my  education,  they  never  allowed  the  senior  class  to  look 
at  Locke  till  eighteen?" 

44  Why,  sir,  it  was  my  misfortune  never  to  be  at  a  college, 
nor  even  at  a  grammar  school,  except  nine  months  when  I  was 
a  child." 

Here  the  governor  sprung  from  his  seat,  and  staring  at 
Ben,  cried  out,  44  the  devil!  well,  and  where — where  did  you 
get  your  education,  pray  ?" 

"  At  home,  sir,  in  a  tallow  chandler's  shop." 

44  In  a  tallow  chandler's  shop!"  screamed  the  governor. 

"  Yes,  sir;  my  father  was  a  poor  old  tallow  chandler,  with 
sixteen  children,  and  I  the  youngest  of  all.  At  eight  he  put 
me  to  school,  but  finding  he  could  not  spare  the  money  from 
the  rest  of  the  children  to  keep  me  there,  he  took  me  home 
into  the  shop,  where  I  assisted  him  by  twisting  the  candle  wicks 
and  filling  the  moulds  all  day,  and  at  night  I  read  by  myself. 
At  twelve,  my  father  bound  me  to  my  brother,  a  printer,  in 
Boston,  and  with  him  I  worked  hard  all  day  at  the  press  and 
cases,  and  again  read  by  myself  at  night." 

Here  the  governor,  spanking  his  hands  together,  put  up  a 
loud  whistle,  while  his  eye-balls,  wild  with  surprise,  rolled 
about  in  their  sockets  as  if  in  a  mighty  mind  to  hop  out 
44  Impossible,  young  man!"  he  exclaimed :  "  Impossible!  you 
are  only  sounding  my  credulity.  I  can  never  believe  one 
half  of  all  this."  Then  turning  to  the  captain,  he  said, 
44  captain,  you  are  an  intelligent  man,  and  from  Boston;  pray 
tell  me  can  this  young  man  here,  be  aiming  at  any  thing  but 
to  quiz  me?" 

"No,  indeed,  please  your  excellency,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain, 44  Mr,  Franklin  is  not  quizzing  you.  He  is  saying  what  is 
really  true,  for  I  am  acquainted  with  his  father  and  family  '* 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


81 


The  governor  then  turning  to  Ben  said,  more  moderately, 
«•  Well,  my  dear  wonderful  boy,  I  ask  your  pardon  foi 
doubting  your  word;  and  now  pray  tell  me,  for  I  feel  a 
stronger  desire  than  ever  to  hear  your  objection  to  learning 
the  dead  languages." 

fc4  Why,  sir,  I  object  to  it  principally  on  account  of  the 
shortness  of  human  life.  Taking  them  one  with  another, 
men  do  not  live  above  forty  years.  Plutarch,  indeed,  puts 
it  only  thirty -three.  But  say  forty.  Well,  of  this  full  ten 
years  are  lost  in  childhood,  before  any  boy  thinks  of  a  Latin 
grammar.  This  brings  the  forty  down  to  thirty.  Now  of 
such  a  moment  as  this,  to  spend  five  or  six  years  in  learning 
the  dead  languages,  especially  when  all  the  best  books  in 
those  languages  are  translated  into  ours,  and  besides,  we 
already  have  more  books  on  every  subject  than  such  short- 
lived creatures  can  ever  acquire,  seems  very  preposterous." 

<*  W ell,  but  what  are  you  to  do  with  their  great  poets,  Virgi! 
and  Homer,  for  example;  I  suppose  you  would  not  think  of 
translating  Homer  out  of  his  rich  native  Greek  into  our  pooi 
homespun  English,  would  you  ?" 

"  Why  not,  sir?" 

6  6  Why  I  should  as  soon  think  of  transplanting  a  pine-ap 
pie  from  Jamaica  to  Boston." 

"  Well,  sir,  a  skilful  gardener,  with  his  hot-house,  can 
give  us  nearly  as  fine  a  pine-apple  as  any  in  Jamaica.  And 
so  Mr.  Pope,  with  his  fine  imagination,  has  given  us  Homer, 
in  English,  with  more  of  his  beauties  than  ordinary  scholars 
would  find  in  him  after  forty  years'  study  of  the  Greek.  And 
besides,  sir,  if  Homer  was  not  translated,  I  am  far  from 
thinking  it  would  be  worth  spending  five  or  six  years  tc 
learn  to  read  him  in  his  own  language." 

"  You  differ  from  the  critics,  Mr.  Franklin;  for  the  critic? 
ail  tell  us  that  his  beauties  are  inimitable." 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  the  naturalists  tell  us  that  theteauties  ot 
the  basilisk  are  inimitable  too." 

"  The  basilisk,  sir!  Homer  compared  with  the  basilisk  !  I 
really  don't  understand  you,  sir." 

66  Why,  I  mean,  sir,  that  as  the  basilisk  is  the  more  to  be 
dreaded  for  the  beautiful  skin  that  covers  his  poison,  so  Homer 
for  the  bright  colourings  he  throws  over  bad  charac^eis  and 
passions.  Now,  as  I  don't  think  the  beauties  of  poetry  are 
comparable  to  those  of  philanthropy,  nor  a  thousanoth  part 
so  important  to  human  happiness,  I  must  confess  >  dreao 
Homer,  especially  as  the  companion  of  youth.   The  I  ^tr* 


82 


THE  LIFE  OF 


and  gentle  virtues  are  certainly  the  greatest  charms  and 
sweeteners  of  life.  And  I  suppose,  sir  you  would  hardly 
think  of  sending  jour  son  to  Achilles  to  learn  these." 

"  I  agree  he  has  too  much  revenge  in  his  composition." 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  when  painted  in  the  colours  which  Homer's 
glowing  fancy  lends,  what  youth  but  must  run  the  most  immi- 
nent risk  of  catching  a  spark  of  bad  fire  from  such  a  blaze 
as  he  throws  on  his  pictures?" 

"Why  this,  though  an  uncommon  view  of  the  subject,  is, 
I  confess,  an  ingenious  one,  Mr.  Franklin;  but  surely  'tis 
overstrained." 

46  Not  at  all,  sir;  we  are  told  from  good  authority,  that  it 
was  the  reading  of  Homer  that  first  put  it  into  the  head  of 
Alexander  the  great  to  become  a  Hero:  and  after  him  of 
Charles  the  12th.  What  millions  of  human  beings  have  been 
slaughtered  by  these  two  great  butchers  is  not  known;  but 
still  probably  not  a  tythe  of  what  have  perished  in  duels  be- 
tween individuals  from  the  pride  and  revenge  nursed  by  read- 
ing Homer." 

'•Well,  sir,"  replied  the  governor,  "I  never  heard  the 
prince  of  bards  treated  in  this  way  before.  You  must  cer- 
tainly be  singular  in  your  charges  against  Homer." 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  I  nave  the  honour  to  think  of 
Homer  exactly  as  did  the  greatest  philosopher  of  antiquity; 
I  mean  Plato,  who  strictly  forbids  the  reading  of  Homer  in 
his  republic.  And  yet  Plato  was  a  heathen.  I  don't  boast 
myself  as  a  christian;  and  yet  I  am  shocked  at  the  incon- 
sistency of  our  Latin  and  Greek  teachers  (generally  chris- 
tians and  divines  too,)  who  can  one  day  put  Homer  into  the 
hands  of  their  pupils,  and  in  the  midst  of  their  recitations 
can  stop  them  short  to  point  out  the  divine  beauties  and  sub- 
limities  which  the  poet  gives  to  his  hero,  in  the  bloody  work 
of  slaughtering  the  poor  Trojans;  and  the  next  day  take 
them  to  church  to  hear  a  discourse  from  Christ  on  the  bless- 
edness of  meekness  and  forgiveness.  No  wonder  that  hot-liver 
ed  young  men  thus  educated,  should  despise  meekness  and 
forgiveness,  as  mere  cowards'  virtues,  and  deem  nothing  so 
glorious  as  fighting  duels,  and  blowing  out  brains." 

Here  the  governor  came  to  a  pause,  like  a  gamester  at  his 
last  trump.  But  perceiving  Ben  cast  his  eyes  on  a  spiendid 
copy  of  Pope's  works,  he  suddenly  seized  that  as  a  fine  op- 
portunity to  turn  the  conversation.  So  stepping  up,  he  placed 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  in  a  very  familiar  manner  said, 
'  Well,  Mr.  Franklin,  there's  an  author  that  I  am  sure 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


83 


you  Ml  not  quarrel  with;  an  author  that  1  think  youMl  pro. 
nounce  faultless." 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Ben,  44  I  entertain  a  most  exalted 
opinion' of  Pope;  but  still,  sir,  1  think  he  is  not  without  his 
faults." 

"  It  would  puzzle  you,  I  suspect,  Mr.  Franklin,  as  keen 
a  critic  as  you  are,  to  point  out  one." 

44  Well,  sir,"  answered  Ben,  hastily  turning  to  the  place, 
44  what  do  you  think  of  this  famous  couplet  of  Mr.  Pope's — 

"Immodest  vvordn  admit  of  no  defence, 
For  want  of  decency  is  want  of  sense." 

44 1  see  no  fault  there." 
No,  indeed !"  replied  Ben,  44  why  now  to  my  mind  a  man 
can  ask  no  better  excuse  for  any  thing  wrong  he  does,  than 
his  want  of  sense, " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  governor,  sensibly  staggered,  46  and 
how  would  you  alter  it?" 

44  Why,  sir,  if  1  might  presume  to  alter  a  line  in  this  great 
Poet,  I  would  do  it  in  this  way: — 

"Immodest  words  admit  but  this  defence — 
That  want  of  decency  is  want  of  sense." 

Here  the  governor  caught  Ben  in  his  arms  a»  a  delighted 
father  would  his  son,  calling  out  at  the  same  time  to  the  cap- 
tain, "  How  greatly  am  I  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  bringing 
me  to  an  acquaintance  with  this  charming  boy?  O!  what  a 
delightful  thing  it  would  be  for  us  old  fellows  to  converse 
with  sprightful  youth  if  they  were  but  all  like  him! — But  the 
d — 1  of  it  is,  most  parents  are  as  blind  as  bats  to  the  true 
glory  and  happiness  of  their  children.  Most  parents  never 
look  higher  for  their  sons  than  to  see  them  delving  like  muck- 
worms for  money;  or  hopping  about  like  jay-birds,  in  fine 
feathers.  Hence  their  conversation  is  generally  no  better 
than  froth  and  nonsense." 

After  several  other  handsome  compliments  on  Ben,  and 
the  captain  expressing  a  wish  to  be  going,  the  governor  shook 
hands  with  Ben,  begging  at  the  same  time  that  he  would  for 
ever  consider  him  as  one  of  his  fastest  friends,  and  alst  never 
cpme  to  New-York  without  coming  to  see  him. 


84 


THE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  XX. 

On  returning  to  the  tavern,  he  hastened  into  his  chamber, 
where  he  found  his  drunken  comrade,  poor  Collins,  in  a  fine 
perspiration,  and  considerably  sobered,  owing  to  the  refrige- 
rating effects  of  a  pint  of  strong  sage  tea,  with  a  tea-spoon  • 
ful  of  saltpetre,  which  Ben,  before  he  set  out  to  the  go- 
vernor's, had  pressed  on  him  as  a  remedy  he  had  somewhere 
read,  much  in  vogue  among  the  London  topers,  to  cool  off 
after  a  rum  fever.  Collins  appeared  still  to  have  enough 
of  brandy  in  him  for  a  frolic;  but  when  Ben  came  to  tell  him 
of  the  amiable  governor  Burnet,  in  whose  company,  at  his 
own  palace,  he  had  spent  a  most  delightful  evening;  and 
also  to  remind  him  of  the  golden  opportunity  he  had  lost, 
of  forming  an  acquaintance  with  that  noble  gentleman,  poor 
Collins  wept  bitterly. 

Ben  was  exceedingly  affected  to  see  him  in  tears,  and  en- 
deavoured to  comfort  him.  But  he  refused  comfort.  He 
said,  "  if  this  had  been  the  first  time,  he  should  not  himself 
think  much  of  it;  but  he  candidly  confessed,  that  for  a  long 
time  he  had  been  guilty  of  it,  though  till  of  late  he  had  always 
kept  it  to  himself,  drinking  in  his  chamber.  But  now  he  felt 
at  times,"  he  said,  "  an  awful  apprehension  that  he  was  a  lost 
man.  His  cravings  for  liquor  were  so  strong  on  the  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other  his  powers  of  resistance  so  feeble, 
that  it  put  him  fearfully  in  mind  of  the  dismal  state  of  a  poor 
wretch,  within  the  fatal  attraction  of  a  whirlpool,  whose  re- 
sistless suction,  in  spite  of  all  his  feeble  efforts,  was  hurrying 
him  down  to  sure  and  speedy  destruction." 

Collins,  who  was  exceedingly  eloquent  on  every  subject, 
but  especially  on  one  so  nearly  affecting  himself,  went  on 
deploring  his  misfortune  in  strains  so  tender  and  pathetic, 
that  Ben,  whose  eyes  were  fountains  ever  ready  to  flow  at 
the  voice  of  sorrow,  could  not  refrain  from  weeping,  which 
he  did  most  unfeignedly  for  a  long  esteemed  friend  now  going 
to  ruin.  He  could  bear,  he  said,  to  see  the  brightest  plumed 
bird,  charmed  by  the  rattle-snake,  descending  into  the  hor- 
rid sepulchre  of  the  monster's  jaws.  He  could  bear  to  see 
the  richest  laden  Indiaman,  dismasted  and  rudderless,  drift- 
ing ashore  on  the  merciless  breakers;  because  made  of  dust, 
these  things  must  at  any  rate  return  to  dust  again.  But  to  see 
an  immortal  mind  stopped  in  her  first  soarings,  entangled 
and  limed  in  the  filth  of  so  brutal  a  vice  as  drunkenness — 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


that  was  a  sight  he  could  not  bear.  And  as  a  mother  looking 
hi  her  child  that  is  filleted  for  the  accursed  Moloch,  cannot 
otherwise  than  shed  tears,  so  Ben,  when  he  looked  on  poor 
Collins,  could  not  but  weep  when  he  saw  him  the  victim  of 
destruction. 

However,  as  a  good  wit  turns  every  thing  to  advantage, 
this  sudden  and  distressing  fall  of  poor  Collins,  set  Ben  to 
thinking:  and  the  result  of  his  thoughts  noted  down  in  his 
journal  of  that  day,  deserves  the  attention  of  all  young 
men  of  this  day;  and  even  will  as  long  as  human  nature  en- 
dures. 

"  Wit,"  says  he,  "  in  young  men,  is  dangerous,  because 
apt  to  breed  vanity,  which,  when  disappointed,  brings  them 
down,  and  by  depriving  them  of  natural  cheerfulness, 
drives  them  to  the  bottle  for  that  which  is  artificial.  And 
learning  also  is  dangerous,  when  it  is  aimed  at  as  an  end  and 
*  not  a  mean.  A  young  man  who  aspires  to  be  learned  mere- 
ly for  fame,  is  in  danger;  for,  familiarity  breeding  contempt, 
creates  an  uneasy  void  that  drives  him  to  the  bottle.  Hence 
so  many  learned  men  with  red  noses.  But  when  a  man  from 
a  benevolent  heart,  seeks  learning  for  the  sublime  pleasure 
of  imitating  the  Deity  in  doing  good,  he  is  always  made 
so  happy  in  the  spirit  and  pursuit  of  this  godlike  object,  that 
he  needs  not  the  stimulus  of  brandy." 

This  one  hint,  if  duly  reflected  on  by  young  men,  would 
render  the  name  of  Franklin  dear  to  them  for  ever. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  next  day,  when  they  came  to  settle  with  the  tavern- 
keeper,  and  Ben  with  his  usual  alacrity  had  paraded  his  dol- 
lars for  payment,  poor  Collins  hung  back,  pale  and  dumb- 
founded, as  a  truant  school-boy  at  the  call  to  recitation. 
The  truth  is,  the  fumes  of  his  brandy  having  driven  all  the 
wit  out  of  his  noddle,  had  puffed  it  up  with  such  infinite 
vanity,  that  he  must  needs  turn  in,  red  faced  and  silly  as  he 
was,  to  gamble  with  the  cool-headed  water-drinking  sharpers 
of  New-York.  The  reader  hardly  need  be  informed,  that 
poor  Collins'  pistareens,  which  he  had  scraped  together  for 
this  expedition,  were  to  these  light-fingered  gentlemen  as  a 
fry  of  young  herrings  to  the  hungry  dog-fish. 

8 


8G 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Ben  was  now  placed  in  a  most  awkward  predicament 
To  pay  off*  Collins'  scores  at  New- York,  and  also  his  ex- 

f>enses  on  the  road  to  Philadelphia,  would  drain  him  to  the 
ast  farthing.  But  how  could  he  leave  in  distress  a  young 
friend  with  whom  he  had  passed  so  many  happy  days  and 
nights  in  the  elegant  pleasure  of  literature,  and  for  whom  he 
had  contracted  such  an  attachment!  Ben  could  not  bear  the 
idea,  especially  as  his  young  friend,  if  left  in  this  sad  condi- 
tion, might  be  driven  to  despair;  so  drawing  his  purse  he  paid 
off*  Collins'  bill,  which,  from  the  quantity  of  liquor  he  had 
drank,  was  swelled  to  a  serious  amount;  and  taking  him  by 
the  arm,  set  out  with  a  heart  much  heavier  than  his  purse, 
which  indeed  was  now  so  empty  that  had  it  not  been  replen- 
ished at  Bristol  by  the  thirty  pounds  for  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  Vernon  gave  him  an  order  on  a  gentleman  living  there, 
wno  readily  paid  it,  would  never  have  carried  him  and  his 
drunken  companion  to  Philadelphia.  On  their  arrival  Col- 
lins endeavoured  to  procure  employment  as  a  merchant's 
clerk,  and  paraded  with  great  confidence  his  letters  of  re- 
commendation. But  his  breath  betrayed  him.  And  the 
merchants  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him  notwith- 
standing all  his  letters;  he  continued,  therefore,  to  lodge 
and  board  with  Ben  at  his  expense.  Nor  was  this  all;  for 
knowing  that  Ben  had  Vernon's  money,  he  was  continually 
craving  loans  of  it,  promising  to  pay  as  soon  as  he  should 
get  into  business.  By  thus  imposing  on  Ben's  friendship, 
getting  a  little  of  him  at  one  time,  and  a  little  at  another, 
he  had  at  last  got  so  much  of  it,  that  when  Ben,  who  had 
gone  on  lending  without  taking  note,  came  to  count  Vernon's 
money,  he  could  hardly  find  a  dollar  to  count! 

It  is  not  easy  to  describe  the  agitation  of  Ben's  mind  on 
making  this  discovery;  nor  the  alternate  chill  and  fever,  that 
discoloured  his  cheeks,  as  he  reflected  on  his  own  egregious 
folly  in  this  affair.  "  What  demon,"  said  he  to  himself, 
as  he  bit  his  lip,  "  could  have  put  it  into  my  head  to  tell 
Collins  that  I  had  Vernon's  money!  Didn't  I  know  that  a 
drunkard  has  no  more  reason  in  him  than  a  hog;  and  can  no 
better  be  satisfied,  unless  like  him  he  is  eternally  pulling  at 
his  filthy  swill?  And  have  I  indeed  been  all  this  time 
throwing  away  Vernon's  money  for  brandy  to  addle  the 
brain  of  this  poor  self-made  brute?  Well  then,  I  am  served 
exactly  as  I  deserve,  for  thus  making  myself  a  pander  to  his 
vices.  But  now  that  the  money  is  all  gone,  and  I  without  a 
shilling  to  replace  it,  what's  to  be  done?  Vernon  will,  no 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


87 


doubt,  soon  learn  that  I  have  collected  his  money;  and  will 
of  c  irse  be  daily  expecting  to  hear  from  me.  But  what  can 
1  w**te?  To  tell  him  that  1  have  collected  his  money,  but 
lent  it  to  a  poor,  penny  less  sot,  will  sound  like  a  pretty  story 
to  a  man  of  business!  And  if  I  don't  write  to  him,  what  will 
fie  think  of  me,  and  what  will  become  of  that  high  opinion 
he  had  formed  of  me,  on  which  it  appeared  he  would  have 
trusted  me  with  thousands?  So  you  see,  I  have  got  myself 
into  a  pretty  hobble.  And  worse  than  all  yet,  how  shall  1 
even-  again  lift  up  my  booby  face  to  my  affectionate  brother 
John,  after  having  thus  basely  stabbed  him,  through  his  friend, 
as  also  through  the  honour  of  our  family!  O  my  dear,  dear  old 
father;  now  1  see  your  wisdom  and  my  own  folly!  A  thou- 
sand times  did  you  tell  me  I  was  too  young;  too  inexpe- 
rienced yet,  to  undertake  by  myself. — But  no.  It  would 
not  all  do.  For  the  life  of  you,  you  could  not  lead  or  drive 
such  divine  counsel  into  this  conceited  noddle  of  mine.  I 
despised  it  as  the  weakness  of  old  age,  and  much  too  slow 
for  me.  I  wanted  to  save  time,  and  get  three  or  four  years 
ahead  of  other  young  men;  and  that  tempted  me  to  disobe 
dience.  Well,  I  am  justly  punished  for  it!  My  bubble  is 
broke.  And  now  I  see  I  shall  be  thrown  back  as  long  as  if 
I  had  continued  the  apprentice  of  my  brother  James!!" 

O  young  men!  young  men!  you  that  with  segars  in  your 
mouths,  and  faces  flushed  with  libations  of  whiskey,  can  fancy 
yourselves  clever fellows,  and  boast  the  long  list  of  your  dear 
friends,  O  think  of  the  curses  that  Ben  bestowed  on  his  dear 
friend  Collins,  for  bringing  him  in  such  a  scrape;  and  learn 
Jhat  an  idle,  drinking  rascal  has  no  friends.  If  you  think 
otherwise,  it  is  only  a  proof  that  you  don't  even  yet  un 
derstand  the  meaning  of  the  word.  Friends  indeed!  you 
talk  of  friends!  What,  you,  who  instead  of  nobly  pressing 
on  for  virtue  and  knowledge  and  wealth,  to  make  your- 
selves an  honour  and  blessing  to  your  connexions,  are  con- 
stantly, by  your  drunken  and  gambling  courses,  making 
yourselves  a  disgrace  and  curse  to  them.  And  when,  like  that 
fool  in  the  parable,  your  all  is  gone,  then,  instead  of  modestly 
going  with  him  into  the  fields,  to  feed  the  swine,  you  have  the 
impudence  to  quarter  your  rags  and  red  noses  on  your  dear 
friends,  spunging  and  borrowing  of  them  as  long  as  they'll 
lend.  And  if  at  last,  they  should  get  wise  enough  to  refuse 
such  unconscionable  leechers,  as  would  suck  every  drop  of 
their  blood,  instantly  you  can  turn  tail  and  abuse  your  deai 


88 


THE  LIFE  OF 


friends  as  though  they  were  pick-pockets. — Witness  nov 
master  Collins. 

Just  as  Ben  was  in  the  midst  of  his  fever  and  pet,  on  dis- 
covering as  aforesaid,  the  great  injury  which  Collins  had  done 
him,  who  but  that  promising  youth  should  come  in,  red  faced 
and  blowzy,  and  with  extreme  confidence,  demand  of  him  a 
couple  of  dollars.  Ben,  rather  tartly,  replied,  that  he  had 
no  more  to  spare.  "Pshaw,"  answered  Collins,  "  'tis  only  a 
brace  of  dollars  I  want,  just  to  treat  an  old  Boston  acquaint- 
ance I  fell  in  with  at  the  tavern,  and  you  know  Vernon  tipt 
you  'the  shiners'  t'other  day  to  the  tune  of  a  round  hun- 
dred." "  Yes,"  replied  Ben,  "but  what  with  two  dollars 
at  one  time,  and  two  at  another,  you  have  taken  nearly 
the  whole."  "Well,  man,  and  what  of  that,"  rejoined  Col- 
lins, swaggeringly;  "suppose  I  had  taken  the  whole;  yes, 
and  twice  as  much,  sha'nt  I  get  into  fine  business  presently, 
some  head  clerk's  place,  or  governor's  secretary?  And 
then  you'll  see  how  I'll  tumble  you  in  the  yellow  boys  hand 
over  hand,  and  pay  you  off  these  little  beggarly  items  all  at 
a  dash." 

"  Fair  words,  Mr.  Collins"  answered  Ben,  "  butter  no 
parsnips.  And  you  have  been  so  long  talking  at  this  rate, 
and  yet  doing  nothing,  that  I  really  am  afraid — " 

"Afraid,  the  d  1,"  interrupted  Collins,  insultingly, 

"  afraid  of  what?  But  see  here,  Mr.  Franklin,  I  came  to  you 
not  to  preach  to  me,  but  to  lend  me  a  couple  of  dollars.  And 
now  all  that  you  have  to  do  is  just  to  tell  me,  at  a  word, 
whether  you  can  lend  them  or  not." 

"  Well  then,  at  a  word,  I  cannot,"  said  Ben. 

"  Well  then,  you  are  an  ungrateful  fellow,"  retorted 
Collins. 

"Ungrateful?"  asked  Ben,  utterly  astonished. 

"Yes,  an  ungrateful  fellow,"  replied  Collins.  "You 
dare  not  deny,  sii\  that  it  was  I  who  first  took  you  out  of 
the  tallow  pots  and  grease  of  your  old  father's  candle  shop 
in  Boston,  and  made  a  man  of  you.  And  now  after  all, 
when  I  only  ask  you  to  lend  me  a  couple  of  shabby  dollars 
to  treat  a  friend,  you  can  refuse  me!  Well,  keep  your  dol 

lars  to  yourself  and  be  d  -d  for  an  ungrateful  fellow  as 

you  are!"  then  wheeling  on  his  heel  he  went  off,  blustering 
and  swollen  with  passion,  as  though  he  had  been  most  out- 
rageously  ill-treated.  Soon  as  Ben  had  recovered  himselt 
a  little  from  the  stupefaction  into  which  this  tornado  of 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


89 


Collins  had  thrown  him,  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  rolling  up 
his  eyes  like  one  devoutly  given,  exclaimed,  "  O  Ulysses, 
well  called  wise!  You,  though  a  heathen,  could  lash  your 
sailors  to  the  mast  to  keep  them  from  going  ashore  to  be 
rMde  hogs  of  at  the  grog  shops  of  Circe,  while  I,  the  son 
of  an  old  presbyterian  christian,  the  son  of  his  old  age,  and 
heir  elect  of  all  his  wisdom,  have  been  here  now  for  weeks 
together,  lending  money  to  brutalize  my  own  friend !  Would 
to  heaven,  I  had  been  but  half  as  wise  as  you,  I  should  not 
have  been  so  shamefully. fleeced,  and  now  so  grossly  insulted 
by  this  young  swine,  Collins.  But  what  brain  of  man  could 
have  suspected  this  of  him?  After  taking  him  out  of  the  stye 
of  a  jug  tavern  in  New- York,  where  he  was  up  to  the  back 
in  dirt  and  debt — after  paying  all  his  expenses  to  Philadel- 
phia, and  here  supporting  him  cheerfully,  out  of  my  hard  and 
scanty  earnings; — after  submitting,  for  cheapness  sake,  to 
sleep  in  the  same  bed  with  him  every  night,  scorched  with 
nis  rum-fevered  flesh,  drenched  in  his  nocturnal  sweats,  and 
poisoned  with  his  filthy  breath;  and  still  worse,  after  lend- 
ing him  nearly  the  whole  of  Vernon's  money,  and  thereby 
brought  my  own  silly  nose  to  the  grindstone,  perhaps  for  many 
a  doleful  year,  I  should  now  at  last  be  requited  with  all  this 
abuse;  d — n — d  for  an  ungrateful  fellow  !  I  Well,  I  don't 
know  where  all  this  is  to  end;  but  I  will  still  hope  for  the  best. 
I  hope  it  will  teach  me  this  important  lesson,  never  to  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  a  sot  again,  as  long  as  I  live.  But  stop, 
though  I  refused  him  money  to  get  drunk  with,  I  still  feel 
a  friendship  for  this  wretched  young  man,  this  Collins;  and 
will  still  work  to  support  him,  while  he  stays  with  me.  It 
is  likely  that  now,  that  he  can  get  no  more  money  from  me, 
he  will  take  his  departure;  and  then,  if  my  senses  remain, 
I  think  I  will  for  ever  hereafter  shun,  as  I  would  a  beast, 
the  j'oung  man  who  drinks  drams  and  grog." 

From  his  going  off  in  such  a  pet,  Ben  had  supposed  at  first, 
that  Collins  would  not  return  again.  But  having  no  money 
nor  friends  in  Philadelphia,  the  poor  fellow  came  back  at 
night,  to  his  old  roosting  place  with  Ben,  by  whom  he  was 
received  with  the  same  good  humour  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. But  though  the  injured  may  forgive,  the  injurer  sel- 
dom does.  Collins  never  looked  straight  at  Ben  after  this. 
The  recollection  of  the  past  kept  him  sore.  And  to  be  de- 
pendent on  one  whom,  in  the  pride  of  former  days,  he 
had  thought  his  inferior,  rendered  his  condition  so  uneasy, 
that  he  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  get  out  of  it.  Fortunately 

8* 


90 


THE  LIFE  OF 


an  opportunity  soon  offered.    The  captain  of  a  trader  to  tht 
West  Indies,  falling  in  with  him  one  day  at  a  tavern,  where  he 
was  spouting  away  at  a  most  elegant  rate,  was  so  charmed  with 
his  vivacity  and  wit,  which  most  young  fools,  half  shaved,  are 
apt  to  figure  in,  that  he  offered  him  the  place  of  a  private 
tutor  in  a  rich  family  in  Jamaica.  Dame  fortune,  in  her  best 
humour,  with  all  her  cogged  dice  in  the  bargain,  could  not, 
as  Collins  himself  thought,  have  thrown  him  a  luckier  hit. 
Young  black  eyed  Creoles,  with  fourth  proof  spirit,  in  all  its 
delicious  modifications,  of  slings,  bumbo  andpunch,  dancing 
before  his  delighted  fancy,  in  such  mazes  of  pleasurable  pro- 
mise, that  'tis  likely  he  would  hardly  have  exchanged  places 
with  the  grand  Turk.    With  a  countenance  glowing  with 
joy,  he  hastened  to  Ben  to  tell  him  the  glorious  news,  and  to 
take  leave.    After  heartily  congratulating  him  on  his  good 
fortune,  Ben  asked,  if  he  would  not  want  a  little  money  to 
Jit  him  out.    Collins  thanked  him,  but  said  that  the  captain, 
who  had  engaged  him,  was  such  a  noble-hearted  fellow,  that 
he  had,  of  his  own  accord,  advanced  him  three  half  joes  to 
put  him  into  what  he  called  "  complete  sailing  trim," 
Though  Ben  had  of  late  been  so  scurvily  treated  by  Collins, 
as  to  think  it  very  desirable  to  be  quit  of  him;  yet,  when  the 
time  came,  he  found  it  no  such  easy  matter  for  the  heart  to 
dissolve  the  ties  of  a  long  and  once  pleasant  friendship.  He 
nad  passed  with  Collins  many  of  his  happiest  hours,  and 
*hese  too,  in  the  sweetest  season  of  life,  and  amidst  pleasures 
which  best  lift  the  soul  from  earth,  and  spring  those  unutter- 
able hopes  she  delights  in.    How  then,  without  tears,  could 
he  for  the  last  time,  feel  the  strong  pressure  of  his  hand,  and 
catch  the  parting  glance?  On  the  other  side,  through  watery 
eyes  and  broken  accents,  poor  Collins  sobbed  out  his  last 
adieu,  not  without  hearty  thanks,  for  the  many  favors  which 
Ben  had  done  him,  and  solemn  promises  of  speedily  writing 
to  him,  and  remitting  all  his  money.    Charity  would  fain 
believe,  that  he  fully  so  intended;  but  alas!  nor  money,  not 
friend  did  Ben  ever  hear  of  afterwards.    This  elegant  vie 
tim  of  rum,  was  no  doubt  presented  by  the  captain  to  the 
wealthy  family  in  Jamaica.    And  being  introduced,  under 
the  genial  influence  perhaps  of  a  cheerful  glass,  'tis  likely 
that  with  his  advantages  of  education  and  eloquence,  he  made 
such  a  figure  in  the  eyes  of  those  wrealthy  and  hospitable 
.slanders,  that  they  were  in  raptures  with  him,  and  fondlj 
counted  that  they  had  got  an  elegant  young  schoolmaster 
who  was  to  make  scholars  and  wits  of  the  whole  family 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


9\ 


Perhaps  too,  their  darling  hope,  a  blooming  (laughter,  was 
seen  to  heave  the  tender  sigh,  as  blushing  she  darted  the 
side-long  glance  upon  him.  But  alas!  the  next  day  sees  the 
elegant  young  schoolmaster  dead  drunk!  and  the  amiable 
family  all  in  the  dumps  again.  'Tis  more  than  probable,  that 
after  having  been  alternately  received  and  dismissed  from 
a  dozen  wealthy  families,  he  sunk  at  length,  into  tattered 
garments,  and  a  grog-blossomed  face;  the  mournful  victim 
of  intemperance.  And  now  perhaps,  after  all  the  fair  pros- 
pects of  his  youth,  and.  all  the  fond  hopes  of  his  parents, 
poor  Collins,  untimely  buried  in  a  foreign  church-yard,  onlv 
serves  for  the  pious  to  point  their  children  to  his  early  tomb 
and  remind  them  how  vain  are  talents  and  education  with 
out  the  restraints  of  religion. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Soon  as  Ben  reached  Philadelphia,  as  aforesaid,  he  waited 
on  the  governor,  who  received  him  with  joy,  eagerly  call- 
ing out,  '"Well  my  dear  boy,  what  success?  What  sue- 
cess  ?"  Ben,  with  a  smile,  drew  his  father's  letter  from  his 
pocket.  The  governor  snatched  it,  as  if  all  impatient  to  see 
its  contents,  which  he  ran  through  with  a  devouring  haste. 
When  he  was  done,  he  shook  his  head  and  said,  "  it  was  to  be 
sure  a  sensible,  letter,  a  vastly  sensible  letter;  but — but, — it 
won't  do,"  continued  he  to  Ben,  46  no,  it  won't  do;  your  father 
is  too  cautious,  entirely  too  cautious,  sir."  Hereupon  he  fell 
into  a  brown  study,  with  his  eyes  nailed  to  the  ground,  as  in  a 
profound  reverie.  After  a  moment's  pause,  he  suddenly  looked 
up,  and  with  a  countenance  bright  as  with  some  happy  thought, 
he  cried  out,  44  I've  got  it,  my  dear  young  friend,  I've  get 
it  exactly.  Zounds!  what  signifies  making  two  bites  at  a 
cherry?  In  for  a -penny,  in  for  a  pound,  is  my  way.  Since 
your  father  will  do  nothing  for  you,  I'll  do  it  all  myself.  A 
printer  I  want,  and  a  printer  I'll  have,  that's  a  clear  case: 
and  I  am  sure  you  are  the  lad  that  will  suit  me  to  a  fraction. 
So  give  me  a  list  of  the  articles  you  want  from  England, 
and  I  will  send  for  them  by  the  very  next  ship,  and  set  you 
up  at  once:  and  all  I  shall  expect  of  you,  is  that  you'll  pay 
me  when  you  are  able!!"  Seeing  the  tear  swelling  in  Ben's 
eye,  the  governor  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  in  a  softened 


THE  LIFE  OF 


tone  said, "  come,  nothing  of  that  my  dear  boy,  nothing  of  that 
A  lad  of  your  talents  and  merit,  must  not  languish  in  the 
back  ground  for  lack  of  a  little  money  to  bring  you  forward. 
So  make  me  out,  as  I  said,  a  list  of  such  articles  as  you  may 
want,  and  I'll  send  for  them  at  once  to  London.— But  stop! 
would  it  not  be  better  for  you  to  go  to  London,  and  choose 
these  things  yourself?  you  could  then,  you  know,  be  sure  to 
have  them  all  of  the  best  quality.  And  besides,  you  could 
form  an  acquaintance  with  some  clever  fellows  in  the  book 
selling  and  stationary  line,  whose  friendship  might  be  worth 
a  Jew's  eye  to  you,  in  your  business  here. 

Ben,  hardly  able  now  to  speak,  thanked  the  governor  as 
well  as  he  could  for  so  generous  an  offer. — "  Well  then," 
continued  the  governor,  "get  yourself  in  readiness  to  go 
with  the  Annis."  The  reader  will  please  to  be  informed, 
that  the  Annis  was,  at  that  time,  (1722)  the  only  regular 
trader  between  London  and  Philadelphia;  and  she  made  but 
one  voyage  in  the  year!  Finding  that  the  Annis  was  not  to 
sail  for  several  months  yet,  Ben  prudently  continued  to  do 
journey  work  for  old  Keimer;  but  often  haunted  with  the 
ghost  of  Vernon's  money  which  he  had  lent  to  Collins,  and 
for  fear  of  what  would  become  of  him  if  Vernon  should  be 
strict  to  mark  his  iniquities  in  that  mad  affair.  But  happily 
tor  him,  Vernon  made  no  demand.  It  appeared  afterwards 
that  this  worthy  man  had  not  forgotten  his  money.  But 
learning  from  a  variety  of  quarters,  that  Ben  was  a  perfect 
non-descript  of  industry  and  frugality,  he  concluded  that  as 
the  money  was  not  paid,  Ben  was  probably  under  the  hatches. 
He  therefore,  generously,  let  the  matter  lie  over  till  a  dis- 
tant day,  when  Ben,  as  we  shall  by  and  by  see,  paid  him 
up  fully,  both  principal  and  interest,  and  thus  recovered  the 
high  ground  he  formerly  held  in  his  friendship.  Thanks  be 
to  God,  who  has  given  to  inflexible  honesty  and  industry, 
such  power  over  the  "heart  strings,"  as  well  as  "purse 
strings,"  of  mankind. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Ben  was  naturally  comic  in  a  high  degree,  and  this  plea- 
sant vein,  greatly  improved  by  Ws  present  golden  prospects, 
betrayed  him  into  many  a  frolic  with  Keimer,  to  whom  he- 
had  prudently  attached  himself  as  a  journeyman,  until  the 
Annis  should  sail.  The  reader  will  excuse  lien  for  these 
frolics  when  he  comes  to  learn  what  were  their  aims;  as  also 
what  an  insufferable  old  creature  this  Keimer  was.  Silly  as 
a  rooby,  yet  vain  as  a  jay,  and  garrulous  as  a  pie,  he  could 
never  rest  but  when  in  a  stiff  argument,  and  acting  the  orator, 
at  which  he  looked  on  Cicero  himself  as  but  a  boy  to  him. 
Here  was  a  fine  target  for  Ben's  Socratic  artillery,  which 
he  frequently  played  off  on  the  old  pomposo  with  great  effect. 
By  questions  artfully  put,  he  would  obtain  of  him  certain 
points,  which  Keimer  readily  granted,  as  seeing  in  them  no 
sort  of  connexion  with  the  matter  in  debate.  But  yet  these 
points,  when  granted,  like  distant  nets  slyly  hauling  round 
a  porpoise  or  sturgeon,  would,  by  degrees,  so  completely  cir- 
cumvent the  silly  fish,  that  with  all  his  flouncing  and  fury 
he  could  never  extricate  himself,  but  rather  got  more  deeply 
entangled.  Often  caught  in  this  way,  he  became  at  last  so 
afraid  of  Ben's  questions,  that  he  would  turn  as  mad  when 
one  of  them  was  "poked  at  him,"  as  a  bull  at  sight  of  a  scar- 
let cloak;  and  would  not  answer  the  simplest  question  with- 
out first  asking,  "  well,  and  what  would  you  make  of  that  ?" 
He  came  at  length  to  form  so  exalted  an  opinion  of  Ben's 
talents  for  refutation,  that  he  seriously  proposed  to  him  one 
day  that  they  should  turn  out  together  and  preach  up  a  New 
Religion!  Keimer  was  to  preach  and  make  the  converts, 
and  Ben  to  answer  and  put  to  silence  the  gainsayers.  He 
said  a  world  of  money  might  be  made  by  it. 

On  hearing  the  outlines  of  this  new  religion,  Ben  found 
great  fault  with  it.  This  he  did  only  that  he  might  have  an- 
other frolic  with  Keimer;  but  his  frolics  were  praiseworthy, 
for  they  all  "  leaned  to  virtue's  side."  The  truth  is,  he  saw 
that  Keimer  was  prodigiously  a  hypocrite.  At  every  whip- 
stitch he  could  play  the  knave,  and  then  for  a  pretence  would 
read  his  Bible.  But  it  was  not  the  moral  part  of  the  Bible, 
the  sweet  precepts  and  parables  of  the  Gospel  that  he  read. 
No  verily.  Food  so  angelic  was  not  at  all  to  the  tooth  of 
Lis  childish  fancy,  which  delighted  in  nothing  but  the  novel 
*ud  curious.    Like  too  many  of  the  saints  now-a-days,  he 


94 


THE  LIFE  OF 


would  rather  read  about  the  witch  of  Endor,  than  the  good 
Samaritan,  and  hear  a  sermon  on  the  brazen  candlesticks 
than  on  the  love  of  God.  And  then,  O  dear!  who  wa9 
Melchizedeck?  Or  where  was  the  land  of  Nod?  Or,  was  it 
in  the  shape  of  a  serpent  or  a  monkey  that  the  devil  tempted 
Eve?  As  he  was  one  day  poring  over  the  pentateuch  as 
busy  after  some  nice  game  of  this  sort  as  a  terrier  on  the 
track  of  a  weazle,  he  came  to  that  famous  text  where  Moses 
says,  "  thou  shalt  not  mar  the  comers  of  thy  beard"  Aye! 
this  was  the  divinity  for  Keimer.  It  struck  him  like  a  new 
light  from  the  clouds:  then  rolling  his  eyes  as  from  an  appa- 
rition, he  exclaimed,  "  miserable  man  that  I  am!  and  was  I 
indeed  forbidden  to  mar  even  the  corners  of  my  beard,  and 
have  I  been  all  this  time  shaving  myself  as  smooth  as  an 
eunuch!  Fire  and  brimstone,  how  have  you  been  boiling  up 
for  me,  and  I  knew  it  not!  Hell,  deepest  hell  is  my  portion, 
that's  a  clear  case,  unless  I  reform.  And  reform  I  will  if 
I  live.  Yes,  my  poor  naked  chin,  if  ever  I  but  get  another 
crop  upon  thee  and  I  suffer  it  to  be  touched  by  the  ungodly 
steel,  then  let  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning." 

From  that  day  he  became  as  shy  of  a  razor  as  ever  Sam- 
son was.  His  long  black  whiskers  "  whistled  in  the  wind." 
And  then  to  see  how  he  would  stand  up  before  his  glass  and 
stroke  them  down,  it  would  have  reminded  you  of  some  an- 
cient Druid,  adjusting  the  sacred  Misletoe. 

Ben  could  not  bear  that  sight.  Such  shameless  neglect 
of  angel  morality,  and  yet  such  fidgetting  about  a  goatish 
beard!  "  Heavens,  sir,"  said  he  to  Keimer,  one  day  in  the 
midst  of  a  hot  argument, 

"Who  can  think,  with  common  sense, 
A  smooth  shaved  face  gives  God  offence? 
Or  that  a  whisker  hath  a  charm, 
Eternal  justice  to  disarm?" 

He  even  proposed  to  him  to  get  shaved.  Keimer  swore 
outright  that  he  would  never  lose  his  beard.  A  stiff*  alter- 
cation ensued.  But  Keimer  getting  angry,  Ben  agreed  at 
last  to  give  up  the  beard.  He  said  that,  "  as  the  beard  at 
best  was  but  an  external,  a  mere  excrescence,  he  would  not 
insist  on  that  as  so  very  essential.  But  certainly  sir," 
continued  he,  "  there  is  one  thing  that  is." 

Keimer  wanted  to  know  what  that  was. 

66  Why  sir,"  added  Ben,  "  this  turning  out  and  preaching 
up  a  New  Religion,  is,  without  doubt,  a  very  serious  affair, 
and  ought  not  to  be  undertaken  too  hastily.    Much  time. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


93 


sir,  in  my  opinion  at  least,  should  be  spent  in  making  pre- 
paration, in  which,  fasting  should  certainly  have  a  large 
share." 

Keimer,  who  was  a  great  glutton,  said  he  could  never  fast. 

Ben  then  insisted  that  if  they  were  not  to  fast  altogether, 
they  ought,  at  any  rate,  to  abstain  from  animal  food,  and  live 
as  the  saints  of  old  did,  on  vegetables  and  water. 

Keimer  shook  his  head,  and  said  that  if  he  were  to  live  on 
vegetables  and  water,  he  should  soon  die. 

Ben  assured  him  that  it- was  entirely  a  mistake.  He  had 
tried  it  often,  he  said,  and  could  testify  from  his  own  expe- 
rience that  he  was  never  more  healthy  and  cheerful  than  when 
he  lived  on  vegetables  alone.  46  Die  from  feeding  on  vege- 
tables, indeed!  Why,  sir,  it  contradicts  reason;  and  con- 
tradicts all  history,  ancient  and  profane.  There  was  Daniel, 
and  his  three  young  friends,  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abe*l- 
nego,  who  fed  on  a  vegetable  diet,  of  choice;  did  they  languish 
and  die  of  it?  or  rather  did  they  not  display  a  rouge  of 
health  and  fire  of  genius,  far  beyond  those  silly  youths  who 
crammed  on  all  the  luxuries  of  the  royal  table?  And  that 
amiable  Italian  nobleman,  Lewis  Cornaro,  who  says  of 
bread,  that  it  was  such  a  dainty  to  his  palate,  that  he  was 
almost  afraid,  at  times,  it  was  too  good  for  him  to  eat;  did 
he  languish  and  die  of  this  simple  fare?  On  the  contrary,  did 
he  not  out-live  three  generations  of  gratified  epicures;  and 
after  all,  go  off  in  his  second  century,  like  a  bird  of  Para- 
dise, singing  the  praises  of  Temperance  and  Virtue?  And 
pray,  sir,"  continued  Ben,  "where's  the  wonder  of  all  this? 
Must  not  the  blood  that  is  formed  of  vegetables  be  the  purest 
in  nature?  And  then*  as  the  spirits  depend  on  the  blood,  must 
not  the  spirits  secreted  from  such  blood  be  the  purest  too? 
And  when  this  is  the  case  with  the  blood  and  spirits,  which 
are  the  very  life  of  the  man,  must  not  that  man  enjoy  the 
best  chance  for  such  healthy  secretions  and  circulations  as 
are  most  conducive  to  long  and  happy  life?" 

While  Ben  argued  at  this  rate,  Keimer  regarded  him  with 
a  look  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Very  true,  sir;  all  this  is 
very  true;  but  still  I  cannot  go  it." 

Ben,  still  unwilling  to  give  up  his  point,  thought  he  would 
make  one  more  push  at  him.  "  What  a  pity  it  is,5'  said  he 
with  a  sigh,  "that  the  blessings  of  so  sublime  a  religion 
should  be  all  lost  to  the  world,  merely  for  lack  of  a  little 
fortitude  on  the  part  of  its  propagators." 

This  was  touching  him  on  the  right  string;  for  Keimer 


96 


THE  LIFE  OF 


was  a  man  of  such  vanity,  that  a  little  flattery  would  put  him 
up  to  any  thing.  So  after  a  few  hems  and  //,«'s,  he  said,  he  be- 
lieved he  would,  at  any  rate,  make  a  trial  of  this  new  regimen. 

Having  thus  carried  his  point,  Ben  immediately  engaged 
a  poor  old  woman  of  the  neighbourhood  to  become  their  cook; 
and  gave  her  oft*  hand,  written  receipts  for  three  and  forty 
dishes;  not  one  of  which  contained  a  single  atom  of  fish, 
flesh,  or  fowl.  For  their  first  day's  breakfast  on  the  new 
regimen,  the  old  woman  .treated  them  with  a  terrene  ot  oat- 
meal gruel.  Keimer  was  particularly  fond  of  his  breakfast, 
at  which  a  nice  beef-stake  with  onion  sauce  was  a  standing 
dish.  It  was  as  good  as  a  farce  to  Ben,  to  see  with  what  an 
eye  Keimer  regarded  the  terrene,  when  entering  the  room, 
in  place  of  his  stake,  hot,  smoking,  and  savory,  he  beheld  this 
pale,  meagre-looking  slop. 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  said  he,  with  a  visage  grum, 
and  scowling  eye. 

64  A  dish  of  hasty  pudding,"  replied  Ben,  with  the  smile 
of  an  innocent  youth  wrho  had  a  keen  appetite,  with  some- 
thing good  to  satisfy  it — "  a  dish  of  nice  hasty  pudding,  sir, 
made  of  oats." 

46  Of  oats!"  retorted  Keimer,  with  a  voice  raised  to  a 
scream. 

66  Yes,  sir,  oats,"  rejoined  Ben,— "  oats,  that  precious 
grain  which  gives  such  elegance  and  fire  to  our  noblest  of 
quadrupeds,  the  horse." 

Keimer  growled  out,  that  he  was  no  horse  to  eat  oats. 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  replied  Ben,  "  'tis  equally  good 
for  men." 

Keimer  denied  that  any  human  being  ever  eat  oats. 

"Aye!"  said  Ben,  "and  pray  what's  become  of  the 
Scotch  ?  Don't  they  live  on  oats;  and  yet,  where  will  you 
nnd  a  people  so  '  bonny,  blythe,  and  gay;'  a  nation  of  such 
wits  and  warriors." 

As  there  was  no  answering  this,  Keimer  sat  down  to  the 
terrene,  and  swallowed  a  few  spoonfuls,  but  not  without 
making  as  many  wry  faces  as  if  it  had  been  so  much  jalap; 
while  Ben,  all  smile  and  chat,  breakfasted  most  deliciously. 

At  dinner,  by  Ben's  order,  the  old  woman  paraded  a 
trencher  piled  up  with  potatoes.  Keimer's  grumbling  fit 
came  on  him  again.  "  He  saw  clear  enough,"  he  said, 
44  that  he  was  to  be  poisoned." 

"Poh,  cheer  up,  man,"  replied  Ben;  "  this  is  your  right 
preacher's  bread." 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


97 


"Bread  the  d — 1!"  replied  Keimer,  snarling. 

"  Yes,  bread,  sir,"  continued  Ben,  pleasantly;  "the 
bread  of  life,  sir;  for  where  do  you  find  such  health  and 
spirits,  such  bloom  and  beauty,  as  among  the  honest-hearted 
Irish,  and  yet  for  their  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper,  the 

Jiotato  is  their  tetotum;  the  first,  second,  and  third  course." 
[11  this  way,  Ben  and  his  old  woman  went  on  with  Keimer; 
daily  ringing  the  changes  on  oat-meal  gruel,  roasted  potatoes, 
boiled  rice,  and  so  on,  through  the  whole  family  of  roots  and 
grains  in  all  their  various  genders,  moods,  and  tenses. 

Sometimes,  like  a  restive  mule,  Keimer  would  kick  up 
and  show  strong  symptoms  of  flying  the  way.  But  then  Ben 
would  prick  him  up  again  with  a  touch  of  his  ruling  pas- 
sion, vanity;  "  only  think,  Mr.  Keimer,"  he  would  say, 
"  only  think  what  has  been  done  by  the  founders  of  new 
religions :  how  they  have  enlightened  the  ignorant,  polished 
the  rude,  civilized  the  savage,  and  made  heroes  of  those  who 
were  little  better  than  brutes.  Think,  sir,  what  Moses  did 
among  the  stitt-necked  Jews;  what  Mahomet  did  among 
the  wild  Arabs — and  what  you  may  do  among  these  gentle 
drab-coated  Pennsylvanians."  This,  like  a  spur  in  the 
flank  of  a  jaded  horse,  gave  Keimer  a  new  start,  and  pushed 
him  on  afresh  to  his  gruel  breakfasts  and  potato  dinners. 
Ben  strove  hard  to  keep  him  up  to  this  gait.  Often  at  table, 
and  especially  when  he  saw  that  Keimer  was  in  good  hu- 
mour and  fed  kindly,  he  would  give  a  loose  to  fancy,  and 
paint  the  advantages  of  their  new  regimen  in  the  most  glow 
ing  colours.  64  Aye,  sir,"  he  would  say,  letting  drop  at 
the  same  time  his  spoon,  as  in  an  ecstacy  of  his  subject, 
while  his  pudding  on  the  platter  cooled — u  aye,  sir,  now  we 
are  beginning  to  live  like  men  going  a  preaching  indeed. 
Let  your  epicures  gormandize  their  fowl,  fish,  and  flesh, 
with  draughts  of  intoxicating  liquors.  Such  gross,  inflam- 
matory food  may  suit  the  brutal  votaries  of  Mars  and  Venus. 
But  our  views,  sir,  are  different  altogether;  we  are  going  to 
teach  wisdom  and  benevolence  to  mankind.  This  is  a  hea- 
venly work,  sir,  and  our  minds  ought  to  be  heavenly.  Now, 
as  the  mind  depends  greatly  on  the  body,  and  the  body  on 
the  food,  we  should  certainly  select  that  which  is  of  the 
most  pure  and  refining  quality.  And  this,  sir,  is  exactly 
the  food  to  our  purpose.  This  mild  potato,  or  this  gentle 
pudding,  is  the  thing  to  insure  the  light  stomach,  the  cool 
liver,  the  clear  head,  and,  above  all,  those  celestial  passions 

9 


98 


THE  LIFE  OF 


which  become  a  preacher  that  would  moralize  the  world 
And  these  celestial  passions,  sir,  let  me  add,  though  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  a  prophet,  these  celestial  passions,  sir,  were  you 
but  to  stick  to  this  diet,  would  soon  shine  out  in  your  coun- 
tenance with  such  apostolic  majesty  and  grace,  as  would 
strike  all  beholders  with  reverence,  and  enable  you  to  carry 
the  world  before  you." 

Such  was  the  style  of  Ben's  rhetoric  with  old  Keimer. 
But  it  could  not  all  do.  For  though  these  harangues  would 
sometimes  make  him  fancy  himself  as  big  as  Zoroaster  or 
Confucius,  and  talk  as  if  he  should  soon  have  the  whole 
country  running  after  him,  and  worshipping  him  for  the 
Great  Lama  of  the  west;  yet  this  divinity  fit  was  too  much 
against  the  grain  to  last  long.  Unfortunately  for  poor  Kei- 
mer, the  kitchen  lay  between  him  and  his  bishobprick:  and 
both  nature  and  habit  had  so  wedded  him  to  that  swinish 
idol,  that  nothing  could  divorce  him.    So  after  having  been 

led  by  Ben  a  «  very  d  /  of  a  life,"  as  he  called  it,  "for 

three  months,"  his  flesh-pot  appetites  prevailed,  and  he 
swore,  "by  his  whiskers,  he  would  suffer  it  no  longer," 
Accordingly  he  ordered  a  nice  roast  pig  for  dinner,  and  de- 
sired Ben  to  invite  a  young  friend  to  dine  with  them.  Ben 
did  so:  but  neither  himself  nor  his  young  friend  were  any 
thing  the  better  for  the  pig.  For  before  they  could  arrive,  the 
pig  being  done,  and  his  appetite  beyond  all  restraint,  Keimer 
had  fallen  on  it  and  devoured  the  whole.  And  there  he  sat 
panting  and  torpid  as  an  Anaconda  who  had  just  swallowed 
a  young  buffaloe.  But  still  his  looks  gave  sign  that  the 
"  Ministers  of  Grace"  had  not  entirely  deserted  him.  foi 
at  sight  of  Ben  and  his  young  friend,  he  blushed  up  to  the 
eye  lids,  and  in  a  glow  of  scarlet,  which  showed  that  he  paid 
dear  for  his  whistle,  (gluttony)  he  apologized  for  disap- 
pointing them  of  their  dinner.  "  Indeed,  the  smell  of  the 
pig,"  he  said,  "was  so  sweet,  and  the  nicely  browned 
skin  so  inviting,  especially  to  him  who  had  been  long  starved, 
that  for  the  soul  of  him  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
£o  taste  it — and  then,  O!  if  Lucifer  himself  had  been  at  the 
loor,  he  must  have  gone  on,  let  what  would  have  been  the 
;onsequences."  He  said  too,  "  that  for  his  part  he  was 
<lad  it  was  a  pig  and  not  a  hog,  for  that  he  verily  believed 
ie  should  have  bursted  himself." — Then  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  and  pressing  his  swollen  abdomen  with  his  paws,  he 
•xclaimed  with  an  awkward  laugh,  "  Well,  I  don't  believe 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


I  was  ever  cut  out  for  a  bishop!" — Here  ended  the  farce  : 
for  Keimer  never  after  this  uttered  another  word  about  his 
New  Religion. 

Ben  used,  laughing,  to  say  that  he  drew  Keimer  into  this 
scrape  that  he  might  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  starving  him 
out  of  his  gluttony  And  he  did  it  also  that  he  might  save 
the  more  for  books  and  candles:  their  vegetable  regimen  cost- 
ing him,  in  all,  rather  less  than  three  cents  a  day!  To  those 
who  can  spend  twenty  times  this  sum  on  tobacco  and  whis- 
key alone,  three  cents  per  day  must  appear  a  scurvy  allow- 
ance, and  of  course  poor  Ben  must  be  sadly  pitied.  But 
such  philosophers  should  remember  that  all  depends  on  our 
loves,  whose  property  it  is  to  make  bitter  things  sweet,  and 
heavy  things  light. 

For  example:  to  lie  out  in  the  darksome  swamp  with  no 
other  canopy  but  the  sky,  and  no  bed  but  the  cold  ground, 
and  his  only  music  the  midnight  owl  or  screaming  alligator, 
seems  terrible  to  servile  minds;  but  it  was  joy  to  Marion, 
whose  "  whole  soul,"  as  general  Lee  well  observes,  "was  de- 
voted to  liberty  and  country. " 

So,  to  shut  himself  up  in  a  dirty  printing-office,  with  no 
dinner  but  a  bit  of  bread,  no  supper  but  an  apple,  must  ap- 
pear to  every  epicure  as  it  did  to  Keimer,  "  a  mere  d — /  of 
a  life;"  but  it  was  joy  to  Ben,  whose  whole  soul  was  on  his 
books,  as  the  sacred  lamps  that  were  to  guide  him  to  useful- 
ness and  glory. 

Happy  he  who  early  strikes  into  the  path  of  wisdom,  and 
bravely  walks  therein  till  habit  sprinkles  it  with  roses.  He 
shall  be  led  as  a  lamb  among  the  green  pastures  along  the 
water  courses  of  pleasure,  nor  shall  he  ever  experience  the 
pang  of  those 

"  Who  see  the  right,  and  approve  it  too  ; 
Condemn  the  wrong — and  yet  the  wrong  pursue." 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Ben,  as  we'  have  seen,  was  never  without  a  knot  of 
choice  spirits,  like  satellites,  constantly  revolving  around 
him,  and  both  receiving  and  reflecting  light.  By  these  satel- 
lites I  mean  young  men  of  fine  minds,  and  fond  of  books. 
He  had  at  this  time  a  trio  of  such.    The  first  was  of  the 


LOO 


THE  LIFE  OF 


name  of  Osborne,  the  second  Watson,  and  the  third  Ralpn. 
As  the  two  first  were  a  good  deal  of  the  nature  of  wander- 
ing stars,  which,  though  bright,  soon  disappear  again,  1 
shall  let  them  pass  away  in  silence.  But  the  last,  that's  to 
say,  Ralph,  shone  so  long  in  the  same  sphere  with  Ben,  both 
in  America  and  Europe,  that  it  will  never  do  to  let  him  go 
without  giving  the  reader  somewhat  at  least  of  a  telescopic 
squint  at  him.  James  Ralph,  then,  was  a  young  man  of  the 
first  rate  talents,  ingenious  at  argument,  of  flowery  fancy, 
most  fascinating  in  his  manners,  and  uncommonly  eloquent 
In  short,  he  appears  to  have  been  built  and  equipped  to  run 
the  voyage  of  life  with  as  splendid  success  as  any.  But  alas ! 
as  the  seamen  say  of  their  ships,  u  he  took  the  wrong  sheer." 
Hence,  while  many  a  dull  genius,  with  only  a  few  plain- 
sailing  virtues  on  board,  such  as  honest  industry,  good  hu- 
mour, and  prudence,  have  made  fine  weather  through  life, 
and  come  into  port  at  last  laden  up  to  the  bends  with  riches 
and  honours,  this  gallant  Proa,  this  stately  Gondola,  the 
moment  he  was  put  to  sea,  was  caught  up  in  a  Euroclydon 
of  furious  passions  and  appetites  that  shivered  his  character 
and  peace,  and  made  a  wreck  of  him  at  the  very  outset. 

According  to  his  own  account,  it  appears  that  Ben  was 
often  haunted  with  fears  that  he  himself  had  some  hand  in 
Ralph's  disasters.  Dr.  Franklin  was  certainly  one  of  the 
wisest  of  mankind.  But  with  all  his  wisdom  he  was  still 
but  a  man,  and  therefore  liable  to  err.  Solomon, 'we  know, 
was  fallible;  what  wonder  then  young  Franklin? 

But  here  lies  the  difference  between  these  two  wise  men, 
as  to  their  errors.  Solomon,  according  to  scripture,  was 
sometimes  overcome  of  Satan,  even  in  the  bone  and  sinew 
of  his  strength;  but  the  devil  was  too  hard  for  Franklin 
only  while  he  was  in  the  gristle  of  his  youth.  The  case  was 
thus:  among  the  myriads  of  books  which  came  to  his  eager 
tooth,  there  was  a  most  unlucky  one  on  deism,  written,  'tis 
said,  by  Shaftesbury,  a  man  admirably  calculated  to  pervert 
the  truth;  or,  as  Milton  says  of  one  of  his  fallen  spirits,  to 
make  "  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason."  Mark  now 
this  imposing  writer — he  does  not  utter  you  a  word  against 
religion;  not  he  indeed:  no,  not  for  the  world.  Why,  sirs, 
he's  the  best  friend  of  religion.  He  praises  it  up  to  the 
skies,  as  the  sole  glory  of  man,  the  strong  pillar  of  his  vir- 
tues, and  the  inexhaustible  fountain  of  all  his  hopes.  But 
then  he  cannot  away  with  that  false  religion,  that  detest- 
able superstition  called  Christianity.    And  here,  to  set  his 


i 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


101 


readers  against  it,  he  gives  them  a  most  horrible  catalogue 
of*  the  cruelties  and  bloody  persecutions  it  has  always  occa- 
sioned in  the  world;  nay,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  assert  that 
christians  are  the  natural  enemies  of  mankind ;  "  vainly 
conceiting  themselves,"  says  he,  64  to  be  the  favourites  of 
heaven,  they  look  on  the  rest  of  the  world  but  as  6  heathen 
dogs' whom  it  is  '  doing  God  service  to  kill,'  and  whose 
goods  it  is  right  to  seize  on,  as  spoil  for  the  Lord's  people! 
Who,"  he  asks  crowingly,  "  filled  Asia  with  fire  and  sword 
in  the  bloody  wars  of  the  Crusades  ?  The  christians.  Who 
depopulated  the  fine  negro-coasts  of  Africa  ?  The  chris- 
tians. Who  extiipated  many  of  the  once  glorious  Indian 
nations  of  America?  The  christians;  nay,"  continues  he, 
"  so  keen  are  those  christians  for  blood,  that  when  they 
can't  get  their  6  heathen  dogs'  to  fall  on,  they  fall  on  one 
another:  witness  the  papist  christians  destroying  the  pro- 
lestants,  and  the  protestant  christians  destroying  the  papists. 
Vnd  still  greater  shame,"  says  he,  "to  these  sweet  follow- 
ers of  the  Lamb,  these  papist  and  protestant  christians, 
vhen  they  can  no  longer  worry  each  other,  will  worry  those 
)f  their  own  party,  as  in  numberless  and  shameful  cases  of 
the  calvinists  and  arminians;  nay,  so  prone  are  the  chris- 
tians to  hate,  that  their  greatest  doctors  even  in  their  pul- 
pits, instead  of  exhorting  to  piety  and  those  godlike  virtues, 
that  make  men  honour  and  love  one  another,  will  fix  on  the 
vainest  speculations;  which,  though  not  understood  by  one 
soul  among  them,  yet  serve  abundantly  to  set  them  all  by  the 
ears;  yes,  they  can  hate  one  another: 

For  believing  that  there  are  three  persons  in  the  Godhead : 
>r  only  one  person. 

For  believing  that  there  are  children  in  hell  not  a  span 
long;  or  for  not  believing  it. 

For  believing  that  every  body  will  be  saved;  or  for  be- 
lieving that  scarcely  any  body  will  be  saved. 

For  baptizing  in  mill  ponds;  or  only  out  of  china  bowls. 

For  taking  the  sacrament  in  both  elements;  or  only  in  the 
bread. 

For  praying  in  Latin;  or  for  praying  only  in  English. 
For  praying  with  a  book;  or  for  praying  without  a  book. 
For  praying  standing;  or  for  praying  kneeling. 
For  reading  the  Bible,  by  themselves;  or  for  reading  it 
only  with  a  priest. 

For  wearing  long  beards;  or  for  shaving  their  beards 
9* 


102 


THE  LIFE  OF 


For  preaching  up  predestination;  or  for  preaching  up  free 
will. 

Now,"  continues  our  writer,  'b  barely  to  hate  one's  neigh- 
bours for  such  notions  as  these,  were  enough,  one  would 
think,  to  make  any  common  d — 1  blush;  but  these  chris- 
tians, as  if  to  out-d — 1  Satan  himself,  can  not  oaly  hate,  but 
actually  murder  one  another  for  these  contradictory  notions! 
yes;  and  oh,  horrible  to  think!  not  only  murder,  but  even 
glory  in  it:  at  every  shower  of  cruel  bullets  on  their  flying 
victims;  or  at  every  plunge  of  the  reeking  spear  into  the 
bodies  of  shrieking  mothers  and  infants,  they  can  cheer 
each  other  to  the  glorious  spot  with  animating  huzzas!  and 
even  when  the  infernal  tragedy  is  closed,  they  can  write 
congratulatory  letters,  and  sing  Te  Deums,  giving  glory  to 
God  that  the  Monsters — the  Beasts — the  Heretics,  are 
rooted  out." 

Such  was  the  prince  of  infidels.  And  it  was  the  very 
argument  to  stagger  Ben,  even  the  dangerous  argument  of 
example,  which  young  as  he  was,  he  had  learned  to  consider 
as  a  short  way  of  coming  at  men's  real  principles. 

"  Example  is  a  living  law,  whose  sway 
Men  more  than  all  the  living  laws  obey." 

Or  as  Hudibras  has  it, 

Men  oft  prove  it  by  their  practice'. 
No  argument  like  matter  of  fact  is. 
And  we  are,  best  of  all,  led  to 
Men's  principles,  by  what  they  do." 

'Tis  true,  that  to  tax  the  gospel  with  these  accursed  deeds 
of  mad  papists  and  protestants,  is  just  about  as  good  logic 
as  to  accuse  our  excellent  civil  code  with  all  the  crimes  of 
gamblers  and  horse  thieves — the  very  rascals  it  aims  to  hang 
Or  like  charging  the  sun  as  the  cause  of  darkness,  which 
indeed  it  was  given  to  dispel. 

But  Ben  was  too  young  yet,  to  know  every  thing.  And 
besides,  led  altogether  as  he  was  by  the  strongest  feelings  ot 
sympathy,  it  is  not  much  to  be  wondered  at,  that  this  popu- 
lar argument,  "  the  barbarities  of  christians,"  should  have 
excited  so  lasting  prejudice  against  Christianity.  As  some 
men  of  delicate  natures  who  have  taken  an  emetic,  though 
in  the  best  madeira,  can  never  afterwards  bear  the  smell  of 
that  generous  liquor;  so  Christianity,  steeped  in  tears  and 
blood,  excited  in  Ben  an  aversion  that  stuck  by  him  a  long 
time.  In  short,  Ben  became  an  unbeliever  And,  like 
Paul  of  Tarsus,  during  the  reign  of  his  unbelief,  u  he  thought 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


103 


verily  he  ought  to  do  many  things  contrary  to  the  name  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  witch  things  he  also  did,"  arguing 
powerfully  for  natural  religion. 

How  many  converts  lie  made  to  infidelity,  1  have  never 
been  able  exactly  to  learn.  But  certain  it  is,  he  made  two, 
viz.  John  Collins  and  James  Ralph.  As  to  Collins,  we 
have  seen  already,  that  in  converting  him  to  scepticism,  he 
soon  drew  down  an  old  house  over  his  head,  his  pupil  quickly 
turning  out  a  most  impudent  drunkard  and  swindler.  And 
though  he  expected  better  luck  from  Ralph,  yet  he  quickly 
discovered  in  him  also  certain  very  dismal  symptoms  of  the 
cloven  foot. 

Some  short  time  before  the  sailing  of  the  Armis,  Ben,  in 
the  warmth  of  his  heart,  told  Ralph  of  the  immense  affair 
which  Sir  William  Keith  had  engaged  him  in,  viz.  to  make 
him  the  King's  Printer  in  Philadelphia.  And  also  that  he 
was  about  to  sail  in  a  few  days  on  that  very  errand  for  Lon- 
don. Ralph  suddenly  turned  serious;  the  next  day  he  came 
and  told  Ben  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  with  him. 
"  How  can  that  be,"  said  Ben,  66  seeing  you  have  a  young 
wife  and  child?"  To  this  Ralph  replied/ with  an  oath,  that 
"that  should  be  no  obstacle."  64  It  was  true,"  he  said, 
"  he  had  married  the  wench,  but  it  wasonly*for  her  money. 
But  since  the  old  rascal,  her  father,  would  not  give  it  to 
him,  he  was  determined  to  be  revenged  on  him,  by  leaving 
his  daughter  and  grandchild  on  his  hands  for  life." 

Ben,  though  greatly  shocked  by  this  trait  in  his  character, 
was  yet  so  blindly  partial  to  Ralph  that  he  could  not  find  in 
his  heart  to  spurn  him  from  his  acquaintance.  But  for  this, 
as  he  afterwards  called  it,  great  error  in  his  life,  he  received 
a  chastisement,  which,  though  pretty  severe,  was  not  one 
stripe  more  than  he  richly  deserved 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Thf  day  at  length  arrives,  the  long  wished  day  for  the 
sailing  of  the  Annis;  and  Ben  gladly  hails  it  as  the  fairest 
he  had  ever  seen. 

All  in  the  stream  the  ship  she  lies, 

Her  tojisails  looscn'd  from  above, 
When  Ben  to  DEBBY  fondly  (lies 

To  bid  farewell  to  hia  TRUE  LOVE 


304 


THE  LIFE  OF 


But  brightly  as  shone  the  day,  yet  in  this,  as  in  all  the  past, 
he  found  a  canker.  If  the  season  served  his  ambition,  it 
crossed  his  love.  The  reader  will  please  be  reminded  that 
the  Dcbby,  immortalized  in  the  lines  above,  was  the  beauti- 
ful Miss  Deborah  Read,  who  had  at  first  so  heartily  laughed 
at  Ben  for  munching  his  roll  along  the  street;  but  after- 
wards  had  fallen  very  much  in  love  with  him.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  living  in  her  father's  family,  and  daily  a  specta- 
tor of  her  prudence  and  sweetness  of  spirit,  he  had  become 
equally  partial  to  her;  and  had  even  asked  her  in  marriage, 
before  he  set  out  for  London.  The  old  gentleman,  her  fa- 
ther, was  quite  keen  for  the  match,  it  having  always  been 
his  opinion,  he  said,  that  in  choosing  a  husband  for  his 
daughter,  it  was' better  to  get  a  man  without  money,  than 
money  without  a  man. 

But  old  Mrs.  Read  flatly  refused  her  consent;  or,  at  any 
rate,  until  his  return,  when,  as  she  said,  it  would  be  full 
time  enough  for  "  such  young  people  to  marry."  The  truth 
is,  the  printing  trade,  then  in  its  infancy  in  Pennsylvania, 
was  of  such  little  account  that  the  old  lady  had  her  fears 
that  her  daughter  would  starve  if  she  married  Ben. 

Having  taken  leave  of  his  fair  sweetheart,  with  many  a 
vow  of  love  and  swift  return,  Ben,  accompanied  by  Ralph, 
hastened  on  board  the  ship,  which  fell  down  the  river  for 
Newcastle.  Immediately  on  his  arrival  at  this  place,  he 
went  on  shore  to  see  his  dear  friend  the  governor,  who  was 
come  down  to  despatch  the  packet.  The  governor  could  not 
be  seen!  This  was  a  sad  shock  to  Ben,  and  would  have 
been  much  more  so,  but  for  the  attentions  of  the  governor's 
secretary,  Dr.  Bar,  who,  with  the  finest  smile  imaginable, 
presented  the  "  Governor's  compliments  to  his  young 
friend  Mr.  Franklin — was  extremely  sorry  indeed  he  could 
not  see  him*  owing  to  a  press  of  business,  among  which  was 
that  of  writing  some  letters  for  his  own  special  service,  which 
should  he  sent  on  board  to  him — but  though  his  Excellency 
could  not  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Franklin,  yet 
he  begged  he  would  accept  the  assurances  of  his  eternal 
friendship,  with  the  best  wishes  for  his  prosperous  voyage 
and  speedy  return;  and  above  all*  his  earnest  hopes  that  he 
would  continue  to  improve  his  extraordinary  talents. " 

Though  this  was  to  Ben  somewhat  like  a  sugar-plumb  to 
a  child  after  a  dose  of  wormwood,  yet  could  it  not  so  en- 
tirely take  oft' the  bitter,  but  that  he  was  at  first  prodigiously 
m  a  humour  to  break  with  the  governor.    His  characteristic 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


105 


prudence,  however,  came  to  his  aid ;  and  fortunately  recol- 
lecting that  it  was  not  a  common  man,  but  a  Governor,  he 
was  dealing  with,  and  that  such  great  men  have  their  wajs 
of  doing  things  quite  different  from  little  people,  he  smo- 
thered his  resentment,  and  went  peaceably  on  board  the 
ship — -not  even  yet  suspecting  any  fraud  on  the  part  of  the 
governor.  When  we  consider  how  dear  to  the  young  and 
virtuous  bosom  is  the  glow  of  gratitude  to  benefactors,  we 
cannot  but  mourn  that  governor  Keith  should  so  cruelly  have 
chilled  those  joys  in  the  bosom  of  our  young  countryman. 
But,  though  chilled  for  a  moment,  they  were  not  extinct. 
The  h  avy  heart  which  he  at  first  felt  on  being  denied  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  governor,  is  already  much  relieved  by 
his  gracious  message  through  the  secretary,  and  afterwards 
so  completely  cured  by  the  sublime  and  beautiful  scenes 
around  Newcastle,  that  he  went  back  to  the  ship  in  good 
spirits  again.  On  the  return  of  the  last  boat,  bringing  the 
mail,  he  modestly  asked  the  captain  for  the  letters  which 
the  governor  had  addressed  to  his  care..  To  this  the  rough 
son  of  Neptune  replied,  "that  they  were  all  there,  he  sup- 
posed, higglety,  pigglety,  together  in  the  letter  bag,  and 
that  as  the  ship  with  a  fine  breeze  was  getting  under  weigh, 
he  could  not  spare  the  time  now  to  make  a  search  for  them, 
but  that  before  they  got  to  London  he  might  overhaul  the  bag 
and  take  'em  out  for  himself." 

Ben  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  this  answer.  And  charm- 
ed at  thought  of  the  great  things  awaiting  him  in  London, 
he  threw  off  his  coat  and  bravely  joined  the  crew  in  all  theii 
haste  and  bustle  to  weigh  the  anchor,  and  spread  the  sails 
before  the  freshening  gale. 

But  while  the  sailors,  many  of  them  at  least,  poor  fellows, 
for  lack  of  education,  were  straining  at  the  clanking  wind 
lass,  or  creaking  halyards,  as  void  of  thought  as  the  timber- 
heads  of  the  ship,  the  spirits  of  Ben  were  in  a  constant  suc- 
cession of  pleasurable  reflections  on  the  magnificent  scenes 
around  him — the  grand  floating  castle  which  bore  him  so 
high  above  the  foaming  billows — the  rapid  flight  of  the  ship, 
as  flying  before  the  stormy  winds  she  left  the  lessening 
shores  behind  her — the  boundless  fields  of  the  blue  rolling 
ocean,  with  all  her  porpoises  gathering  round  in  blackening 
shoals,  bounding  and  blowing,  as  if  to  greet  the  monster 
vessel,  and  by  their  furious  romps,  adding  to  the  crash  and 
foam  of  the  tempest. 

Though  Ben  was  no  poet,  nor  ever  affected  to  be  "  reh- 


106 


THE  LIFE  OF 


gious  overmuch*"  yet  could  he  not  behold  such  magnificent 
scenes  without  that  adoring  sense  of  eternal  power  and  good- 
ness which  has  been  so  elegantly  expressed  by  the  sweet 
voice  of  Zion: — 

"Shout  to  the  Lord,  ye  surging  seas. 

In  your  eternal  roar ; 
Let  wave  to  wave  resound  his  praise, 

And  shore  reply  to  shore. 

While  monsters  snorting  on  the  flood 

In  scaly  silver  shine, 
Speak  terribly  their  Maker — Cod, 

And  lash  the  foaming  brine." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Ben  getting  into  trouble— finds  out  his  old  friend  governor 
Keith  to  be  a  black  sheep — and  learns  that  a  good  trade 
and  virtuous  habits  are  the  best  wealth  that  a  father  can 
give  his  son. 

11  Who  dares  think  one  thing  and  another  tell, 
My  soul  abhors  him  like  the  gates  of  hell.'* 

On  the  arrival  of  the  ship  in  the  Thames  (or  London  river) 
the  captain,  like  an  honest  fellow  of  his  word,  ordered  the 
letter-bag  on  deck,  and  told  Ben  he  was  welcome  now  to 
overhaul  it  and  pick  out  the  governor's  letters  to  him.  Aftei 
eagerly  turning  them  all  over  and  over  again,  not  a  single 
letter  could  he  find  that  had  his  name  on  it,  either  directed 
to  himself,  or  to  his  care.  He  picked  out  however  a  few 
that  seemed  to  have  some  little  squinting  that  way,  one 
especially,  that  was  directed  to  a  Printer,  and  another  to  a 
Bookseller.  These  he  immediately  carried  to  their  re- 
spective owners.  But  in  place  of  those  smiles  and  prompt 
offers  of  money  and  merchandize,  which  his  illustrious 
patron,  governor  Keith,  had  promised  him,  scarcely  were 
his  letters  opened  before  they  were  nearly  thrown  back  into 
his  face,  as  coming  from  a  couple  of  scoundrel  debtors,  who. 
instead  of  paying  off  their  old  scores,  were  now  impudently 
asking  for  new  credits. 

Here  were  strong  symptoms  of  treachery  on  the  part  of 
the  governor.  And  in  spite  of  all  his  credulity,  Ben  was 
brought  to  his  doubtings.  In  this  dilemma  he  went  back  to 
a  worthy  Quaker  of  the  name  of  Denham,  with  whom  he  had 
contracted  a  ^reat  friendship  on  ship-board,  and  told  him 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


107 


the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end.  With  all  his  pro- 
fessional gravity,  Denham  could  not  help  smiling,  as  Ben 
related  the  history  of  his  credulity  :  but  when  he  came  to 
tell  of  governor  Keith's  Letters  of  Credit,  and  the  vast 
supplies  of  Types,  and  Paper,  and  Presses,  which  they 
were  instantly  to  procure  him,  he  broke  into  a  horse  laugh. 
u  He  give  thee  letters  of  credit,  friend  Benjamin!  Governor 
Keith  give  thee  letters  of  credit!  Why,  man,  he  has  not 
credit  for  himself,  no  not  for  a  brass  farthing,  from  any  one 
who  ever  heard  of  him.*' 

Poor  Ben  was  struck  "all  in  a  heap" — dumb  as  a  codfish. 
He  stood  for  all  the  world  like  a  shipwrecked  sailor  boy, 
who,  after  dreaming  of  gold  and  diamond  coasts,  and  black- 
eyed  Polls,  and  whole  seas  of  grog,  and  mountains  of  segars, 
wakes  up  all  at  once,  and  finds  himself,  like  poor  Robinson 
Crusoe,  on  a  desolate  island,  with  not  even  a  scape-goat  of 
hope  before  him.  In  silence  he  rolled  his  eyes  in  woeful 
cogitation — for  three  months  he  had  been  feasting  on  the 
smiles  and  promises  of  his  illustrious  friend,  governor  Keith 
— for  three  months  had  been  anticipating  his  grand  Printing 
Establishment,  in  Philadelphia,  and  his  complete  triumph 
over  old  Keimer  and  Bradford — for  three  months  he  had 
been  drinking  in  streams  of  rapture  from  the  love-beaming 
eyes  of  the  beauteous  Miss  Read,  shortly  as  his  wife  to 
rustle  in  silks  and  roll  in  her  carriage— but  dearer  still  than 
all,  for  three  months  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  the 
time,  close  at  hand,  when  his  infirm  parents  should  come 
to  enjoy  with  him,  in  Philadelphia,  the  welcome  repose  of 
their  age,  in  an  elegant  retreat,  purchased  for  them,  by  his 
owrn  virtues.  But  lo !  in  a  moment  the  whole  goodly  struc- 
ture  is  dissipated  in  smoke,  leaving  him  pennyless  and 
friendless,  in  a  strange  country,  three  thousand  miles  from 
home,  and  at  a  long,  long  distance  from  all  these  dear 
objects! 

Denham  saw  in  Ben's  looks  what  was  passing  in  his  heart; 
but  knowing  that  it  is  good  for  virtuous  and  heroic  minds  to 
bear  the  cross  in  their  youth,  he  suffered  him  to  go  on,  un- 
disturbed, with  his  dismal  cogitations. 

But  a  young  man  early  trained  in  the  school  of  wisdom  is 
not  long  to  be  depressed.  After  relieving  his  bosom  with  a 
deep  sigh;  he  turned  to  Denham  and  said,  in  a  plaintive 
tone,  "but  was  it  not  cruel  in  governor  Keith  to  deceive 
me  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  Psmjamnu"  replied  Denham,  64 'twas,  to  our  view. 


108 


THE  LIFE  OF 


very  cruel  in  the  governor  of  Pennsylvania  thus  to  deceive 
an  inexperienced  lad  as  thou  art." 

Here  Ben  turning  on  him  his  fine  blue  eyes,  softened  by 
misfortune,  said  again  to  Denham,  "  well,  and  what  would 
you  advise  me  ?" 

u  Advise  thee,  Benjamin,"  replied  Denham,  in  a  cheerful 
tone,  66  why,  I  would  advise  thee  not  to  give  thyself  one 
moment's  uneasiness  about  this  affair.  Thee  remembers 
the  story  of  Joseph,  does  thee  not  ?  how  he  was  betrayed  by 
his  brethren  into  Egypt,  not  only  a  poor  lad  like  thee,  but 
indeed  a  slave  too  ?  And  yet  this  event,  though  at  the  time 
highly  disheartening,  proved  to  him  in  the  end,  one  of  the 
happiest  incidents  of  his  life.  So,  by  good  management 
Benjamin,  this  may  prove  to  thee.  Thou  art  young,  very 
young  yet,  with  a  plenty  of  time  before  thee;  and  this  is  a 
great  city  for  thy  business.  Now  if  thou  wilt  but  seek  em- 
ployment with  some  printer  of  distinction,  thou  mayest  make 
thyself  more  completely  master  of  thy  trade,  and  also  gain 
friends,  that  may  enable  thee  to  settle  so  much  more  advan- 
tageously in  Philadelphia,  as  to  make  it  good  for  thee  that 
governor  Keith  ever  betrayed  thee  here.  And  this  will  be 
a  triumph  much  to  thine  own  honour,  as  also  to  the  benefit 
of  other  youth,  who  shall  ever  hear  of  thy  story." 

As  when  a  sweet  breeze  of  the  ocean  suddenly  strikes  a 
becalmed  ship,  that  with  flapping  sails  lay  tossing  on  the 
sluggish  flood,  instantly  the  joy-wakened  billows  roll  a 
brighter  foam,  and  the  hearts  of  the  sailors  spring  forward 
with  transport  to  their  native  shores.  Thus  exhilarating  to 
Ben's  soul  was  the  counsel  of  his  friend  Denham.  Without 
a  moment's  loss  of  time  he  went,  as  his  friend  Denham  had 
advised,  and  sought  business  at  the  offices  of  two  of  the 
most  eminent  book-printers  in  London,  Palmer  and  Watts. 
With  the  latter  he  spent  most  of  his  time  during  his  stay  in 
England. 

This  Palmer  was  an  amiable  man,  and  in  Ben's  counte- 
nance, now  mellowed  more  than  ordinary,  by  his  late  dis- 
appointment, he  saw  a  something  that  interested  him  greatly 
in  his  favour.  He  asked  Ben  in  what  part  of  London  he 
had  learned  the  art  of  printing.  Ben  told  him  he  had  never 
set  a  type  in  London.  "  Aye!  where  then,"  said  Palmer; 
44  in  Paris?"  Ben  replied,  that  he  was  just  from  Pennsyl- 
vania, in  North  America;  and  that  what  little  he  knew  of 
printing  he  had  picked  up  there.  Palmer,  though,  in  other 
respects,  amiable,  was  one  of  those  thorough-gone  cockneys, 


DR.  FRANKLfN. 


who  can't  believe  that  any  thing  can  be  learned  out  of  the 
sound  of  "  How-bell."  He  stared  at  Ben  on  saying  he  had 
learned  to  print  in  North  America,  as  would  a  French  petit 
maitre  at  one  who  said  he  had  learned  to  dance  among  the 
Hottentots.  "I  am  afraid,  sir,"  said  he  to  Ben,  "that  I 
cannot  employ  you,  as  I  really  felt  a  wish  to  do;  for  though 
I  now  command  fifty  workmen,  I  want  a  Gabber,  i.  e.  a  man 
uncommonly  quick,  and  of  a  satirical  turn.  And  in  neither 
of  these  characters,  sir,  will  you,  probably,  suit  me,  sir — 
however,  sir,  as  it  is  late  now,  and  I  have  business  out,  if 
you  will  call  in  the  morning,  we  will  see  about  it."  Next 
morning,  before  sunrise,  Ben  waited  at  Palmer's  office, 
where  numbers  of  his  journeymen,  having  heard  of  the 
young  North  American  printer,  were  assembled  to  see  him 
work.  Palmer  was  not  yet  up.  An  apprentice  went  to  in- 
form him  that  the  young  printer  from  North  America,  was 
come.  Presently  Mr.  Palmer  made  his  appearance,  looking 
somewhat  confused. 

"And  so  you  are  a  buckskin,  sir,"  said  he,  rather  cavalierly 

"  Yes  sir,"  replied  Ben,  "I  am  a  buckskin." 

"  Well  sir,  I  am  afraid  you'll  not  make  your  fortune  by 
that  here  in  London,"  said  Palmer. 

"  No  sir,"  answered  Ben,  64  I  find  it  is  thought  a  misfor- 
tune here,  to  have  been  born  in  America.  But  I  hope  it  was 
the  will  of  heaven,  and  therefore  must  be  right." 

"Aye!"  replied  Palmer,  a  little  tauntingly;  "and  so  you 
have  preaching  there  too!!  But  do  the  buckskins  generally 
stir  so  early  as  this  ?" 

Ben  replied,  that  the  Pennsylvanians  were  getting  to  find 
out  that  it  was  cheap  burning  sun-light.  Here  Palmer  and 
his  cockneys  stared  at  him,  as  country  buckskins  are  wont 
to  do  at  a  monkey,  or  parrot,  or  any  such  creature  that  pre- 
tends to  mimic  man. 

"You  talk  of  sun-light,  sir,"  said  the  foreman  to  Bens 
"  can  you  tell  the  cause  of  that  wide  difference  between  the 
light  of  the  sun  in  England  and  America  ?" 

Ben  replied  that  he  had  never  discovered  that  difference. 

"What!  not  that  the  sun  shines  brighter  in  London  than 
in  America — the  sky  clearer — the  air  purer — and  the  light 
a  thousand  times  more  vivid — and  luminous — and  cheering 
—and  all  that?" 

Ben  said  that  he  could  not  understand  how  that  could  be, 
seeing  it  was  the  same  sun  that  gave  light  to  both. 

"  The  same  sun.  sir!  the  same  sun!"  replied  the  cockney 
10 


no 


THE  LIFE  OF 


rather  nettled,  "  I  am  not  positive  of  that  sir.  But  admit- 
ting that  it  is  the  same  sun,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  gives 
the  same  light  in  America  as  in  England.  Every  thing,  you 
know,  suffers  by  going  to  the  TVest^  as  the  great  French  phi- 
losophers have  proved;  then  why  not  the  sun?" 

Ben  said  he  wondered  the  gentleman  should  talk  of  the 
sun  going  to  the  west. 

"  What,  the  sun  not  go  to  the  west!"  retorted  the  cockney, 
quite  angry,  «  a  pretty  story,  indeed.  You  have  eyes,  sir; 
and  don't  these  show  you  that  the  sun  rises  in  the  east  and 
travels  to  the  west  ?" 

"  I  thought,  sir,"  replied  Ben,  modestly,  66  that  your  own 
great  countryman,  sir  Isaac  Newton,  had  satisfied  everybody 
that  it  is  the  earth  that  is  thus  continually  travelling,  and  not 
the  sun,  which  is  stationary,  and  gives  the  same  light  to 
England  and  America." 

Palmer,  who  had  much  of  the  honest  Englishman  about 
him,  equally  surprised  and  pleased  to  see  Ben  thus  chastise 
the  pride  and  ignorance  of  his  foreman,  put  a  stop  to  the 
conversation  by  placing  a  composing  stick  in  the  hands  of 
Ben,  while  the  journeymen  gathering  around,  marvelled 
hugely  to  see  the  young  North  American  take  a  composing 
stick  in  his  hand  ! 

Having  spent  a  moment  or  two  in  running  his  eyes  over  the 
letter  cases,  to  see  if  they  were  fixed  as  in  the  printing-offices 
in  America,  and  glancing  at  his  watch,  Ben  fell  to  work, 
and  in  less  than  four  minutes  finished  the  following — 

"  And  Nathaniel  said,  can  there  any  thing  good  come  out 
of  Nazareth? — Philip  said,  come  and  see." 

Palmer  and  his  workmen  were  petrified.  Near  eighty 
letters  set  up  in  less  than  four  minutes,  and  without  a  blun- 
der? And  then  such  a  delicate  stroke  at  their  prejudice  and 
nonsense!  Ben  was  immediately  employed. 

This  was  a  fine  introduction  of  Ben  to  the  printing  office, 
every  person  in  which  seemed  to  give  him  a  hearty  welcome; 
ne  wore  his  rare  talents  so  modestly. 

It  gave  him  also  a  noble  opportunity  to  be  useful,  which 
he  failed  not  to  improve. 

Passing  by  one  of  the  presses  at  which  a  small  man,  meagre 
and  hollow-eyed,  was  labouring  with  unequal  force,  as  ap- 
peared by  his  paleness  and  big-dropping  sweat,  Ben  touched 
with  pity,  offered  to  give  him  "  a  spell."  As  the  pressman 
and  compositor,  like  the  parson  and  the  clerk,  or  the  coifin- 
maker  and  the  grave-digger  are  of  entirely  distinct  trades  in 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


London,  the  little  pressman  was  surprised  that  Ben,  who 
was  a  compositor,  should  talk  of  giving  him  "a  spell."  How- 
ever, Hen  insisting,  the  little  pressman  gave  way,  when  Ben 
seized  the  press,  and  possessing  both  a  skill  and  spirit  ex- 
traordinary, he  handled  it  in  such  a  workman-like  style,  that 
the  men  all  declared  they  should  have  concluded  he  had  done 
nothing  but  press-work  all  his  life.  Palmer  also,  coming  by 
at  the  time,  mingled  his  applauses  with  the  rest,  saying  that 
he  had  never  seen  a  fairer  impression;  and,  on  Ben's  re- 
questing it,  for  exercise  and  health  sake,  he  permitted  him  to 
work  some  hours  every  day  at  press. 

On  his  entrance  into  Palmer's  printing-office,  Ben  paid  the 
customary  garnish  or  treat- money,  for  the  journeymen  to 
drink.  This  was  on  the  first  floor,  among  the  pressmen. 
Presently  Palmer  wanted  him  up  stairs,  among  the  composi- 
tors. There  also  the  journeymen  called  on  him  for  garrdph. 
Ben  refused,  looking  upon  it  as  altogether  an  unfair  demand, 
and  so  Palmer  himself,  to  whom  it  was  referred,  decided  : 
insisting  that  Ben  should  not  pay  \L  But  neither  justice  nor 
patronage  could  bear  Ben  out  against  the  spite  of  the  jour- 
neymen. For  the  moment  his  back  was  turned  they  would 
play  him  an  endless  variety  of  mischievous  tricks,  such  as 
mixing  his  letters,  transposing  his  pages,  breaking  down  his 
matter,  &c.  &c.  It  was  in  vain  he  remonstrated  against  such 
injustice.  They  all  with  one  accord  excused  themselves, 
laying  all  the  blame  on  Ralph,  for  so  they  called  a  certain 
evil  spirit  who,  they  pretended,  haunted  the  office  and  al- 
ways tormented  such  as  were  not  regularly  admitted.  Upon 
this  Ben  paid  his  garnish — being  fully  convinced  of  the  folly 
of  not  keeping  up  a  good  understanding  with  those  among 
whom  we  are  destined  to  live. 

Ben  had  been  at  Palmer's  office  but  a  short  time  before 
he  discovered  that  all  his  workmen,  to  the  number  of  fifty, 
were  terrible  drinkers  of  porter,  insomuch  that  they  kept  a 
stout  boy  all  day  long  on  the  trot  to  serve  them  alone.  Every 


man  among  them  must  have,  viz. 

I  A  pint  of  porter  before  breakfast, — cost  d.  1  £ 

1  A  pint,  with  his  bread  and  cheese,  for  breakfast,  1  £ 

1  A  pint  betwixt  his  breakfast  and  dinner,  \i 

i  A  pint  at  his  dinner,  Is 

I  A  pint  betwixt  his  dinner  and  night,  1  \ 

1  A  pint  after  his  day's  work  was  done,  I3 

6  I'otal,  three  quarts  ! — equal  to  nint.  pence  sterling  per  day  /.  9 


112 


THE  LIFE  UP 


A  practice  so  fatal  to  the  health  and  subsistence  of  thosu 
poor  people  and  their  families,  pained  Ben  to  the  soul,  and 
he  instantly  set  himself  to  break  it  up.  But  they  laughed 
him  to  scorn,  boasting  of  their  beloved  porter,  that  it  was 
"meat  and  drink  too,"  and  the  only  thing  to  give  them 
strength  to  work.  Ben  was  not  to  be  put  out  of  heart  by 
such  an  argument  as  this.  He  offered  to  prove  to  them  that 
the  strength  they  derived  from  the  beer  could  only  be  in  pro- 
portion to  the  barley  dissolved  in  the  water  of  which  the  beer 
was  made — that  there  was  a  larger  portion  of  flour  in  a  penny 
loaf;  and  that  if  they  ate  this  loaf  and  drank  a  pint  of  water 
with  it,  they  would  get  more  strength  than  from  a  pint  of 
beer.  But  still  they  would  not  hearken  to  any  thing  said 
against  their  darling  beer.  Beer,  they  said,  was  "  the  liquor 
of  life,"  and  beer  they  must  have,  or  farewell  strength. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,"  replied  Ben,  "  don't  you  see  me  with 
great  ease  carry  up  and  down  stairs,  a  large  form  of  letters 
in  each  hand;  while  you,  with  both  hands,  have  much  ado  to 
carry  one?  And  don't  you  perceive  that  these  heavy  weights 
which  I  bear  produce  no  manner  of  change  in  my  breathing, 
while  you,  with  only  half  the  weight,  cannot  mount  the  stairs 
without  puffing  and  blowing  most  distressingly?  Now  is  not 
this  sufficient  to  prove  that  water,  though  apparently  the 
weakest,  is  yet  in  reality  the  strongest  liquor  in  nature, 
especially  for  the  young  and  healthy?" 

But  alas!  on  most  of  them,  this  excellent  logic  was  all 
thrown  away. 

"  The  ruling  passion,  be  it  what  it  will  — 
The  ruling  passion  governs  reason  still." 

Though  they  could  not  deny  a  syllable  of  Ben's  reasoning, 
being  often  heard  to  say  that,  "  the  American  Aquatic 
(or  water  drinker)  as  they  called  him,  was  much  stronger 
than  any  of  the  beer  drinkers,"  still  they  would  drink. 

"  But  suppose,"  asked  some  of  them,  "  we  were  to  quit 
our  beer  with  bread  and  cheese  for  breakfast,  what  substitute 
should  we  have?" 

"  Why,  use,"  said  Ben,  "  the  substitute  that  I  do;  which 
is  a  pint  of  nice  oat-meal  gruel  brought  to  me  from  your  beer- 
house,  with  a  little  butter,  sugar  and  nutmeg,  and  a  slice  of 
dry  toast.  This,  which  is  more  palatable  and  still  less  costly 
than  a  pint  of  beer,  makes  a  much  better  breakfast,  and  keeps 
the  head  clearer  to  boot.  At  dinner  I  take  a  cup  of  cold 
water,  which  is  the  wholesomest  of  all  beverages,  and  re- 
quires nothing  but  a  little  use,  to  render  it  as  pleasant  In 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


113 


this  way,  gentlemen,  I  save  nine  pence  sterling  every  day, 
making  in  the  year  nearly  three  thousand  pence!  an  enor- 
mous sum,  let  me  tell  you,  my  friends,  to  a  small  family; 
and  which  would  not  only  save  parents  the  disgrace  of  being 
dunned  for  trilling  debts,  but  also  procure  a  thousand  com- 
forts for  the  children." 

Ben  did  not  entirely  lose  his  reward,  several  of  his  hearers 
affording  him  the  unspeakable  satisfaction  of  following  his 
counsel.  But  the  major  part,  "poor  devils,"  as  he  em- 
phatically styled  them,  "went  on  to  drink — thus  continuing 
all  their  lives  in  a  state  of  voluntary  poverty  and  wretcli- 
edness  !  !99 

Many  of  them,  for  lack  of  punctuality  to  pay  the  publican* 
would  often  have  their  porter  stopped. — They  would  then 
apply  to  Ben  to  become  security  for  them,  their  light,  as 
they  called  it,  being  out.  I  never  heard  that  he  upbraided 
them  with  their  folly;  but  readily  gave  his  word  to  the  pub- 
lican, though  it  cost  him  the  trouble  of  attending  at  the  pay-  * 
table,  every  Saturday  night,  to  take  up  the  sums  he  had  made 
himself  accountable  for. 

Thus,  by  virtue  of  the  right  education,  i,  e.  a  good  trade, 
and  early  fondness  for  labour  and  books,  did  Ben  rise,  like  a 
young  swan  of  heaven,  above  the  dark  billows  of  adver- 
sity; and  cover  himself  with  glory  in  the  eyes  of  these 
young  Englishmen,  who  had  at  first  been  so  prejudiced 
against  him.  And,  better  still,  when  night  came,  instead 
of  sauntering  with  them  to  the  filthy  yet  costly  ale-houses 
and  porter  cellars,  he  hastened  to  his  little  chamber  at  his 
frugal  boarding-house,  (only  Is.  6d.  per  week)  there  to  en- 
joy the  divine  society  of  his  books,  which  he  obtained  on  hire 
from  a  neighbouring  book-store.  And  commanding,  as  he 
always  did,  through  his  steadiness  and  rapidity  at  work,  all 
the  quick  off-hand  jobs,  generally  the  best  paid,  he  might 
have  made  money  and  enjoyed  great  peace;  but  alas!  there 
was  a  moth  in  his  purse  which  kept  him  constantly  poor;  a 
canker  in  his  peace  which  filled  his  life  with  vexation.  That 
canker  and  that  moth  was  his  young  friend  Ralph,  whom,  as 
we  have  seen,  he  had  made  an  infidel  of  in  Philadelphia;  and 
for  which  good  office,  Ralph,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  re- 
quited him  as  might  have  been  expected. 

10* 


114 


THE'  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

14  Who  reasons  wisely,  is  not  therefore  wise ; 
His  pride  in  reasoning,  not  in  acting,  lies." 

Some  years  ago  a  certain  empiric  whispered  in  the  ear  of 
a.  noble  lord,  in  the  British  parliament,  that  he  had  made  a 
wonderful  discovery. 

"  Aye,"  replied  the  nobleman,  staring;  "  a  wonderful 
discovery,  say  you!" 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  a  wonderful  discovery  indeed!  A  disco- 
very, my  lord,  beyond  Gallileo,  Friar  Bacon,  or  even  the 
great  sir  Isaac  Newton  himself." 

ik  The  d — 1!  what,  beyond  sir  Isaac?" 

"  Yes,  'pon  honour,  my  lord,  beyond  the  great  sir  Isaac. 
'Tis  true  his  attractions  and  gravitations  and  all  that, 
are  well  enough;  very  clever  things  to  be  sure,  my  lord;  but 
stiJ I  nothing  in  comparison  of  this." 

"  Zounds,  man,  what  can  it  be  ?" 

"  Why,  my  lord — please  come  a  little  this  way — now, 
in  confidence,  my  lord — I've  been  such  a  lucky  dog  as  to 
discover  the  wondrous  art  of  raising  a  breed  of  sheep  with- 
out wool .'" 

The  nobleman,  who,  it  is  thought,  was  not  very  nearly 
related  to  Solomon,  had  like  to  have  gone  into  fits.  "  What 
sir,"  asked  he,  with  a  countenance  wild-staring  with  amaze- 
ment, "  a  breed  of  sheep  without  wool!  impossible!" 

66  Pardon  me,  my  lord,  it  is  very  possible,  very  true.  I 
have  indeed,  my  lord,  discovered  the  adorable  art  of  raising 
a  breed  of  sheep  without  a  lock  of  wool  on  their  backs!  not 
a  lock,  my  lord,  any  more  than  there  is  here  on  the  back  of 
my  hand." 

"  Your  fortune  is  made,  sir,"  replied  the  nobleman, 
smacking  his  hands  and  lifting  both  them  and  his  eyes  to 
heaven  as  in  ecstasy—"  Your  fortune  is  made  for  ever.  Go- 
vernment, I  am  sure,  sir,  will  not  fail  suitably  to  reward  a 
discovery  that  will  immortalize  the  British  nation." 

Accordingly,  a  motion  to  that  purpose  was  made  in  the 
House  of  Lords,  and  the  empiric  was  within  an  ace  of  being 
created  a  peer  of  the  realm;  when,  most  unfortunately,  the 
duke  of  Devonshire,  a  district  famed  for  sheep,  got  up  and 
begged  a  little  patience  of  the  house  until  it  could  be  fully 
understood  what  great  benefit  the  nation  was  to  derive  from 
a  flock  of  sheep  without  wool.    Why,  zounds!  my  lards," 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


1 13 


said  the  noble  duke,  64  I  thought  all  along  thai  wool  was  the 
main  chance  in  a  Hock  of  sheep." 

A  most  learned  discussion  ensued.  And  it  being  made 
apparent  to  the  noble  lords,  that  wool  is  actually  the  basis  of 
broadcloths,  flannels,  and  most  other  of  the  best  British  manu- 
factures— and  it  being  also  made  apparent  to  the  noble  lords, 
which  was  another  great  point  gained,  that  two  good  things 
are  better  than  one,  L  e.  that  wool  and  mutton  together,  are 
better  than  mutton  by  itself,  or  wool  by  itself,  the  motion 
for  a  title  was  unanimously  scouted:  and  in  place  of  a 
pension  the  rascal  had  like  to  have  got  a  prison,  for  daring 
thus  to  trump  up  a  vile  discovery  that  would  have  robbed  the 
world  of  one  its  greatest  comforts. 

Just  so,  to  my  mind  at  least,  it  fares  with  all  the  boasted 
discoveries  of  our  modern  atheists.  Admitting  that  these 
wonderful  wizards  could  raise  a  nation  of  men  and  women 
without  religion,  as  easily  as  this,  their  brother  conjurer, 
could  a  breed  of  Merinos  without  wool — still  we  must  ask 
cut  bono  ?  that  is,  what  good  would  it  be  to  the  world  ? 
Supposing  they  could  away  at  a  dash,  with  all  sense  of  so 
glorious  a  being  as  God,  and  all  comfort  of  so  mighty  a  hope 
as  heaven,  what  benefit  would  it  bring  to  man  or  beast  ? 

But,  God  be  praised,  this  dismal  question  about  the  con- 
sequence of  discarding  religion  need  not  be  asked  at  this 
time  of  day.  These  gentlemen  without  religion,  like  bell- 
wethers without  wool,  do  so  constantly  betray  their  naked- 
ness, I  mean  their  want  of  morality,  that  the  world,  bad  as 
it  is,  is  getting  ashamed  of  them.  Here,  for  example,  is 
master  Ralph,  who,  for  reasons  abundantly  convenient  to 
himself,  had  accompanied  Ben  to  London — Ben,  as  he  him- 
self confesses,  had  lent  a  liberal  hand  to  make  Ralph  a  sturdy 
infidel,  that  is,  to  free  him  from  the  restraints  of  the  gospel. 
Now  mark  the  precious  fruits  of  this  boasted  freedom. 
Getting  displeased  with  the  parents  of  a  poor  girl,  whom  he* 
had  married,  he  determines  to  quit  her  for  ever,  as  also  a 
poor  unoffending  child  he  had  by  her,  whom,  by  the  ties  of 
nature,  he  was  bound  to  comfort  and  protect!  Ben,  though 
secretly  abhorring  this  villany  of  Ralph,  yet  suffered  him- 
self to  be  so  enamoured  of  his  vivacity  and  wit,  as  to  make 
him  an  inmate.    "  We  were,"  says  Ben,  "  inseparable  com- 


self  owns  afterwards,  to  boast  of  this  connexion.  But  it 
was  fine  sport  for  Ralph;  for  having  brought  no  money  with 
him  from  America  but  what  just  sufficed  to  pay  his  passage, 


panions. "    Very  little  cause 


H6 


THE  LIFE  OF 


and  knowing  what  a  noble  drudge  Ben  was,  and  also  that  he 
had  with  him  fifteen  pistoles,  the  fruits  of  his  hard  labours 
and  savings  in  Philadelphia,  he  found  it  very  convenient  to 
hang  upon  him;  not  only  boarding  and  lodging  at  his  expense, 
and  at  his  expense  going  to  plays  and  concerts,  but  also 
frequently  drawing  on  his  dear  yellow  boys,  the  pistoles,  for 
purposes  of  private  pleasure. 

If  the  reader  should  ask,  how  Ralph,  even  as  a  man  of 
honour,  could  reconcile  it  to  himself,  thus  to  devour  his 
friend,  let  me,  in  turn,  ask  what  business  had  Ben  to  furnish 
Ralph  the  very  alphabet  and  syntax  of  this  abominable  les- 
son against  himself  ?  And,  if  that  should  not  be  thought 
mite  to  the  point,  let  me  ask  again,  where,  taking  the  fear 
»f  God  out  of  the  heart,  is  the  difference  between  a  man  and 
a  beast  ?  If  man  has  reason,  it  is  only  to  make  him  ten- 
told  more  a  beast.  Ralph,  it  is  true,  did  no  work;  but  what 
of  that?  He  wrote  such  charming  poetry — and  spouted  such 
fine  plays — and  talked  so  eloquently  with  Ben  of  nights! — 
and  sure  this  was  a  good  offset  against  Ben's  hard  labours 
and  pistoles.  At  any  rate  Ralph  thought  so.  Nay,  more; 
ne  thought,  in  return  for  these  sublime  entertainments,  Ben 
ought  to  support  not  only  him,  but  also  his  concubine.  Ac- 
cordingly he  went  and  scraped  aquaintance  with  a  handsome 
young  widow,  a  milliner,  in  the  next  street:  and  what  with 
reading  his  fine  poetry  to  her,  and  spouting  his  plays,  he  got 
so  completely  into  her  good  graces,  that  she  presently 
turned  actress  too;  and  in  the  "  comedy  of  errors,"  or 
"  all  for  love,"  played  her  part  so  unluckily,  that  she  was 
hissed  from  the  stage,  by  all  her  virtuous  acquaintance,  and 
compelled  to  troop  off  with  a  big  belly  to  another  neighbour- 
hood, where  Ralph  continued  to  visit  her. 

The  reader  will  hardly  wonder,  when  told  that  Ralph  and 
his  fair  milliner  soon  found  the  bottom  of  Ben's  purse.  He 
will  rather  wonder  what  sort  of  love-powder  it  was  that  Ben 
took  of  this  young  man  that  could,  for  such  a  length  of  time, 
so  fatally  have  befooled  him.  But  Ben  was  first  in  the 
transgression.  Like  Alexander  the  coppersmith,  he  had 
done  Ralph  *  much  harm,"  and  God,  who  is  wiser  than  all, 
had  ordained  that  he  should  be  "  rewarded  according  to  his 
works  " 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


117 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Learn  to  be  wise  from  others'  ill, 
And  you'll  learn  to  do  full  well." 

As  nothing  is  so  repellant  of  base  minds  as  poverty,  soon 
as  Ralph  found  that  Ben's  pistoles  were  all  gone,  and  his 
finances  reduced  to  the  beggarly  ebb  of  living  jTrom  hand  to 
mouth,  he  "  cleared  out"  and  betook  himself  into  the  coun- 
try to  teach  school,  whence  he  was  continually  writing  fine 
poetical  epistles  to  Ben,  not  forgetting  in  every  postscript,  to 
put  him  in  mind  of  his  dear  Dulcinea,  the  fair  milliner,  and 
to  commend  her  to  his  kindness.  As  to  Ben,  he  still  per- 
severed, after  Ralph's  departure,  in  his  good  old  habits  of 
industry  and  economy — never  indulging  in  tobacco  or  gin — 
never  sauntering  to  taverns  or  play  houses,  nor  at  any  time 
laying  out  his  money  but  on  books,  which  he  always  visited, 
as  frugal  lovers  do  their  sweethearts,  at  night.  But  still  it 
would  not  all  do.  He  could  lay  up  nothing.  The  daily  postage 
of  Ralph's  long  poetical  epistles,  with  the  unceasing  appli- 
cation of  the  poor  milliner,  kept  his  purse  continually  in  a 
galloping  consumption.  At  length  he  obtained  a  release 
from  this  unpleasant  situation,  though  in  away  that  he  him- 
self never  could  think  of  afterwards  without  a  blush. 

After  very  frequent  loans  of  money  to  her,  she  came,  it 
seems,  one  night  to  his  lodgings  on  the  old  errand — to  bor- 
row half  a  guinea  I  when  Ben,  who  had  been  getting  too  fond 
of  her,  took  this  opportunity  to  offer  freedoms  which  she 
highly  resented. 

This  Ben  tells  himself,  with  a  candour  that  will  for  evei 
do  him  credit  among  those  who  know  that  the  confession  of 
folly  is  the  first  step  on  the  way  to  wisdom. 

66  Having,  at  that  time/  says  he,  "  no  ties  of  religion 
upon  me,  and  taking  adv?.jtage  of  her  necessitous  situation. 
I  attempted  liberties  (another  great  error  of  my  life,)  which 
she  repelled  with  becoming  indignation.  She  informed 
Ralph;  and  the  affair  occasioned  a  breach  between  us. 
When  he  returned  to  London,  he  gave  to  understand  that 
he  considered  all  the  obligations  he  owed  me  as  annihilated 
by  this  proceeding;  and  that  I  was  not  to  expect  one  farthing 
of  all  the  monies  I  had  lent  him." 

Ben  used  to  say,  many  years  afterwards,  that  this  conduct 
of  his  friend  Ralph  put  him  in  mind  of  an  anecdote  he  had 
some  where  heard,  of  good  old  Gilbert  Tenant:  the  same 


118 


THE  LIFE  OF 


that  George  Whitefield  generally  called  hell-fire  Tenant. 
This  eminent  divine,  believing  fear  to  be  a  much  strongei 
motive  with  the  multitude  than  love,  constantly  made  a  great 
run  upon  that  passion  in  all  his  discourses.  And  Boanerges 
himself  could  hardly  have  held  a  candle  to  him  in  this  way. 
Nature  had  given  him  a  countenance  which  he  could,  at  will, 
clothe  with  all  the  terrors  of  the  tornado.  And  besides  he 
had  a  talent  for  painting  the  scenes  of  dread  perdition  in 
such  colours,  that  when  aided  by  the  lightning  of  his  eyes, 
and  the  bursting  thunders  of  his  voice,  it  was  enough  to 
start  the  soul  of  lion-hearted  innocence;  what  then  of  rabbit- 
livered  guilt  ?  The  truth  is,  he  wrought  miracles  in  New- 
Jersey:  casting  out  devils — the  devils  of  drunkenness,  gam- 
bling, and  lust,  out  of  many  a  wretch  possessed. 

Among  the  thousands  whom  he  thus  frightened  for  their 
good,  was  a  tame  Indian  of  Woodbury,  who  generally  went 
by  the  name  of  Indian-Dick.  This  poor  savage,  on  hearing 
Mr.  Tenant  preach,  was  so  terrified,  that  he  fell  down  in 
the  meeting  house,  and  roared  as  if  under  the  scalping  knife. 

He  lost  his  stomach:  and  even  his  beloved  bottle  was  for- 
gotten. Old  Mr.  Tenant  went  to  see  Dick,  and  rejoiced 
over  him  as  a  son  in  the  gospel; — heartily  thanking  God  for 
adding  this  Indian  Gem  to  the  crown  of  his  glory. 

Not  many  days  after  this,  the  man  of  God  took  his  jour- 
ney through  the  south  counties  of  New- Jersey,  calling  the 
poor  clam -catchers  of  Cape  May  to  repentance.  As  he  re- 
turned and  drew  near  to  Woodbury,  lo!  a  great  multitude! 
He  rejoiced  in  spirit,  as  hoping  that  it  was  a  meeting  of  the 
people  to  hear  the  word  of  God:  but  the  uproar  bursting 
upon  his  ear,  put  him  in  doubt. 

66  Surely,"  said  he,  "  this  is  not  the  voice  of  praise;  'tis 
rather,  I  fear,  the  noise  of  drunkenness."  And  so  it  was 
indeed;  for  it  being  a  day  of  election,  the  friends  of  the 
candidates  had  dealt  out  their  brandy  so  liberally  that  the 
street  was  filled  with  sots  of  every  degree,  from  the  simple 
stagger  to  the  dead  drunk.  Among  the  rest,  he  beheld  his 
Indian  convert,  poor  Dick,  under  full  sail  in  the  street, 
reeling  and  hallooing,  great  as  a  sachem.  Mr.  Tenant  strove 
hard  to  avoid  him;  but  Dick,  whose  quick  eye  had  caught 
the  old  pie-balled  horse  that  Tenant  rode  on,  instantly  stag- 
gered towards  him.  Tenant  put  forth  all  his  horsemanship 
to  avoid  the  interview.  He  kicked  old  Pie-ball  in  one  flank, 
and  then  in  the  other;  pulled  this  rein  and  then  that;  laia  on 
here  with  his  staff,  and  laid  on  (here;  but  all  would  not  do; 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


119 


unless  he  could  at  once  ride  down  the  drunken  beasts,  there 
was  no  way  of  getting  clear  of  them.  So  that  Dick,  half 
shaved  as  he  was,  soon  got  along  side  of  old  Pie-ball,  whom 
he  grappled  by  the  rein  with  one  hand,  and  stretching  forth 
the  other,  bawled  out,  how  do  ?  how  do,  Mr.  Tenant  ?" 
Tenant  could  not  look  at  him. 

Still,  Dick,  with  his  arm  full  extended,  continued  to  bawl, 
"  how  do,  Mr.  Tenant,  how  do  ?"  Finding  that  there  was  no 
getting  clear  of  him,  Mr.  Tenant,  red  as  crimson,  lifted  up 
his  eyes  on  Dick,  who  still,  bold  as  brandy,  stammered  out, 
"High,  Mr.  Tenant!  d- d-d-don9 1  you  know  me,  Mr.  Ten- 
ant ?  Dori>t  you  know  Indian  Dick  ?  Why,  sure,  Mr. 
Tenant,  you  are  the  man  that  converted  me?" 

"  I  converted  you  !"  replied  Tenant,  nearly  fainting. 

"  Fes,  roared  Dick,  /'//  be  d-d-d-nd,  Mr.  Tenant,  if  you 
ari*t  the  very  man  that  converted  me." 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Tenant,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "you 
look  like  one  of  my  handiworks.  Had  God  Almighty  con- 
verted you,  you  would  have  looked  like  another  guess  sort 
of  a  creature." 

From  Ben's  constantly  relating  this  story  of  old  Tenant 
and  Indian  Dick,  whenever  he  mentioned  the  aforesaid  case 
of  Ralph's  baseness,  many  of  his  acquaintance  were  of 
opinion,  that  Ben  thereby  as  good  as  acknowledged,  that  at 
the  time  he  took  Ralph  in  hand,  he  did  not  altogether  under- 
stand the  art  of  converting;  or,  that  at  any  rate,  it  would 
have  been  mucn  better  for  Ralph,  if,  as  Mr.  Tenant  said  of 
Indian  Dick,  God  Almighty  had  converted  him.  He  would 
hardly,  for  the  sake  of  a  harlot,  have  so  basely  treated  his 
best  friend  and  benefactor. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Ben  resolves  to  return  to  America. — Anecdote  of  a  rare  cha- 
racter. 

M  A  wit's  a  feather,  and  a  chief's  a  rod, 
An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God." 

Ben  used,  with  singular  pleasure,  to  relate  the  following 
story  of  his  Quaker  friend  Denham.  This  excellent  man 
nad  formerly  been  in  business  as  9  Bristol  merchant^  but 


120 


THE  LIFE  OF 


failing,  he  compounded  with  his  creditors  and  departed  foi 
America,  where,  by  his  extraordinary  diligence  and  fru- 
gality, he  acquired  in  a  few  years  a  considerable  fortune. 
Returning  to  England,  in  the  same  ship  with  Ben,  he  in- 
vited ail  his  old  creditors  to  a  dinner.  After  thanking  them 
for  their  former  kindness  and  assuring  them  that  they  should 
soon  be  paid,  he  begged  them  to  take  their  seats  at  table. 
On  turning  up  their  plates,  every  man  found  his  due,  princi- 
pal and  interest,  under  his  plate,  in  shining  gold. 

This  was  the  man  after  Ben's  own  heart.  Though  he 
never  found  in  Denham  any  of  those  flashes  of  wit,  or  floods 
of  eloquence,  which  used  so  to  dazzle  him  in  Ralph,  yet  he 
contracted  such  a  friendship  for  him,  on  account  of  his 
honesty  and  Quaker-like  meekness,  that  he  would  often 
steal  an  hour  from  his  books  at  night,  to  go  and  chat  with 
him.  And  on  the  other  hand,  Ben's  steady  and  persevering 
industry,  with  his  passion  for  knowledge,  had  so  exalted  him 
in  Denham's  esteem,  that  he  was  never  better  pleased  than 
when  his  young  friend  Franklin,  as  he  always  called  him, 
came  to  see  him.  One  night  Denham  asked  Ben  how  he 
would  like  a  trip  to  America? 

"  Nothing  on  earth  would  so  please  me,"  replied  Ben, 
"  if  L  could  do  it  to  advantage." 

"  Well,  friend  Benjamin,"  said  Denham,  "  I  am  just 
a-going  to  make  up  a  large  assortment  of  goods  for  a  store 
in  Philadelphia,  and  if  fifty  pounds  sterling  a  year,  and  bed 
and  board  with  myself,  will  satisfy  thee,  I  shall  be  happy 
of  thy  services  to  go  and  live  with  me  as  my  clerk." 

The  memory  of  his  dear  Philadelphia,  and  the  many 
happy  days  he  had  spent  there,  instantly  sprung  a  some- 
thing at  his  heart  that  reddened  his  cheeks  with  joy.  But 
the  saddening  thought  of  his  total  unacquaintedness  with 
commerce,  soon  turned  them  pale  again.  UI  should  be 
happy  indeed  to  accompany  you,"  replied  he,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  66  if  I  were  but  qualified  to  do  you  justice." 

"O!  as  to  that,  riend  Benjamin,  don't  be  uneasy,"  re- 
plied Denham:  64  If  thou  art  not  qualified  now,  thou  soon 
wilt  be.  And  then  as  soon  as  thou  art  fit;  I'll  send  thee 
with  a  cargo  of  corn  and  flour  to  the  West  Indies,  and  put 
thee  in  a  way  wherein,  with  such  talents  and  industry  as 
thine,  thee  may  soon  make  a  fortune." 

Ben  was  highly  delighted  with  this  proposal,  for  though 
filty  pounds  a  year  was  not  so  much  as  he  could  earn  at 
printing,  yet  the  prospects  in  other  respects  were  so  much 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


greater.  Added  to  this,  he  was  getting  heartily  tired  of 
printing.  He  had  tried  it  five  years  at  Boston,  three  at 
Philadelphia,  and  now  nearly  two  in  London.  At  all 
these  places  he  had  worked  without  ceasing;  had  lived  most 
sparingly;  had  left  no  stone  unturned;  and  after  all  was 
now,  in  his  twenty-first  year,  just  as  indigent  as  when  he 
began!  " Scurvy,  starving  business!"  thought  he  to  him- 
self, "  'tis  high  time  to  quit  you!  and  God  be  thanked  for  this 
fair  opportunity  to  do  it;  and  now  we  will  shake  hands  and 
part  for  ever."  Taking  leave  now  of  the  printing  business,  and 
as  he  believed  and  wished,  for  evei\  he  gave  himself  up  en- 
tirely to  his  new  occupation,  constantly  going  from  house 
to  house  with  Denham,  purchasing  goods  and  packing  them. 
When  every  thing  was  safe  on  board,  he  took  a  little  leisure 
to  visit  his  friends,  and  amuse  himself.  This  was  a  rule 
which  he  observed  through  life — to  do  business  first,  and 
then  enjoy  pleasure  without  a  sting. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

On  the  23d  of  July,  1726,  Ben,  with  his  friend  Denham, 
took  leave  of  their  London  acquaintance,  and  embarked  for 
America.  As  the  ebbing  current  gently  bore  the  vessel 
along  down  the  amber  coloured  flood,  Ben  could  not  sup 
press  his  emotions,  as  he  looked  back  on  that  mighty  city, 
whose  restless  din  was  now  gradually  dying  on  his  ear,  as 
were  its  smoke-covered  houses  sinking  from  his  view,  per- 
haps for  ever.  And  as  he  looked  back,  the  secret  sigh  would 
arise,  for  the  many  toils  and  heart  aches  he  had  suft'ered 
there,  and  all  to  so  little  profit.  But  virtue,  like  the  sun, 
though  it  may  be  overcast  with  clouds,  will  soon  scatter 
those  clouds,  and  spread  a  brighter  ray  after  their  transient 
showers.  'Tis  true,  eighteen  months  had  been  spent  there, 
but  they  had  not  been  misspent.  He  could  look  back  upon 
them  without  shame  or  remorse.  He  had  broken  no  mid- 
night lamps — had  knocked  down  no  poor  watchman — had 
contributed  nothing  to  the  idleness  and  miser}'  of  any 
family.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  the  exceeding  satisfaction 
to  know,  that  he  had  left  the  largest  printing-houses  in 
London  in  mourning  for  his  departure — that  he  had  shown 
them  the  blessings  of  temperance,  and  had  proselyted  many 


122 


THE  LIFE  OF 


of  them  from  folly  to  wise  and  manly  living.  And  though, 
when  he  looked  at  those  eighteen  months,  he  could  not  be- 
hold them,  like  eastern  maidens,  dowered  with  gold  and 
diamonds,  yet,  better  still,  he  could  behold  them  like  the 
6  Wise  Virgins,"  whose  lamps  he  had  diligently  fed  with 
the  oil  of  wisdom,  for  some  great  marriage  supper— perhaps 
that  between  liberty  and  his  country. 

After  a  wearisome  passage  of  near  eleven  weeks,  the 
ship  arrived  at  Philadelphia,  where  Ben  met  the  perfidious 
Keith,  walking  the  street  alone,  and  shorn  of  all  the  short- 
lived splendours  of  his  governorship.  Ben's  honest  face 
struck  the  culprit  pale  and  dumb.  The  reader  hardly  need 
be  told,  that  Ben  was  too  magnanimous  to  add  to  his  con- 
fusion, by  reproaching  or  even  speaking  to  him.  But  as 
if  to  keep  Ben  from  pride,  Providence  kindly  threw  into  his 
way  his  old  sweetheart,  Miss  Read.  Here  his  confusion 
would  have  been  equal  to  Keith's,  had  not  that  fair  one  fur- 
nished him  with  the  sad  charge  against  herself — of  marrying 
during  his  absence.  Her  friends,  after  reading  his  letter 
to  her,  concluding  that  he  would  never  return,  had  advised 
her  to  take  a  husband.  But  she  soon  separated  from  him. 
and  even  refused  to  bear  his  name;  in  consequence  of 
learning  that  he  had  another  wife. 

Denham  and  Ben  took  a  store-house,  and  displayed  their 
goods;  which,  having  been  well  laid  in,  sold  off  very  rapidly. 
This  was  in  October,  1726.  Early  in  the  following  Feb- 
ruary, when  the  utmost  kindness  on  Denham's  part,  and  an 
equal  fidelity  on  Ben's,  had  rendered  them  mutually  dear, 
as  father  and  son;  and  when  also,  by  their  extraordinary 
success  in  trade,  they  had  a  fair  prospect  of  speedily  making 
their  fortunes,  behold!  O,  vanity  of  all  worldly  hopes!  they 
were  both  taken  down  dangerously  ill.  Denham,  for  his 
part,  actually  made  a  die  of  it.  And  Ben  was  so  far  gone, 
at  one  time,  that  he  concluded  it  was  all  over  with  him; 
which  afforded  a  melancholy  kind  of  pleasure,  especially 
when  he  was  told  that  his  friend  Denham,  who  lay  in  the 
next  room,  was  dead.  And  when  he  reflected  that  now, 
since  his  good  patron  had  left  him,  he  should  be  turned  out 
again  upon  the  world,  with  the  same  hard  struggles  to  en- 
counter, and  no  prospect  of  ever  being  able  to  do  any  thing 
for  his  aged  father,  he  felt  a  secret  regret,  that  he  was  called 
back  to  life  again. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


123 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Some  people  there  are  who  tell  us  that  every  man  is  born 
foi  a  particular  walk  in  life,  and  that  whether  tie  will  or  not, 
in  that  walk  he  must  go  ;  and  can  no  more  quit  it  than  the 
sun  can  quit  his  course  through  the  skies. 

This  is  a  very  pleasing  part  of  faith;  and  really  there 
seems  much  ground  for  it.  Certainly  scripture,  in  many 
places,  has  a  powerful  squinting  that  way.  And  in  the  lives 
of  many  of  our  greatest  men,  we  discover  strong  symptoms 
of  it.  The  great  Washington  was,  a  dozen  times  and  more 
within  an  ace  of  getting  out  of  the  only  track  that  could 
have  led  him  to  the  command  of  the  American  armies.  Bu* 
yet  there  seems  to  have  been  always  some  invisible  hand  t« 
meet  him  at  the  threshold  of  his  wanderings,  and  to  pu^i 
him  back.  Dr.  Franklin  also  appears,  on  several  occasions, 
to  have  been  at  the  very  point  of  breaking  oft' from  the  print 
ing  business.  But  Heaven  has  decreed  for  him  that  walk  in 
life,  and  in  it  he  must  move.  And  though  blind  at  times, 
as  Balaam's  ass,  he  sought  to  turn  out  of  the  way,  yet, 
crouch  as  «he  would,  he  still  found  at  every  turn  a  good 
angel  to  bring  him  back.  First  he  was  to  have  been  a  sailor 
out  of  Boston — then  a  swimming-master  in  London — then  a 
merchant  in  America.  But  it  would  not  all  do.  And 
though  in  this  last  brilliant  affair,  he  seemed  to  have  effected 
his  escape,  losing  the  black-fingered  printer  in  the  sprucelj 
powdered  merchant,  yet,  comeback  to  the  world-enlight- 
ening types  he  must — for  Denham  dies,  and  with  him  all 
the  grand  castles  which  Ben  had  built  in  the  air.  Still  averse 
to  the  printing  business,  he  tries  hard  for  another  place  be- 
hind the  counter,  but  nobody  will  take  him  in.  His  money 
at  length  gone,  and  every  avenue  to  honest  bread  hedged  up 
against  him,  he  is  constrained  to  take  refuge  in  his  old  trade. 

Keimer,  his  former  employer,  who  well  knew  his  worth, 
waited  on  him,  and  made  liberal  offers  if  he  would  take 
charge  of  his  printing-office.  It  must  have  been  a  sore  trial 
to  Ben  to  come  under  authority  of  a  man  whose  ignorance 
and  hypocrisy  he  so  heartily  despised;  and  who,  he  well 
Knew,  had  nothing  else  in  view,  but  just  to  get  him  to  in- 
struct his  numerous  apprentices,  and  then  pick  a  quarrel 
and  pack  him  off.  Bat  bad  as  he  hated  Keimer's  vices,  he 
still  worse  hated  idleness  and  dependence,  and  therefore 
he  accepted  his  invitation.    He  found  Keimer's  office  in 


124 


THE  LIFE  OF 


the  old  way,  i.  e.  quite  out  of  order,  and  miserably  destitute 
of  letters.  There  being  at  that  time  no  such  thing  in 
America,  as  a  type-foundry,  this  defect  appeared  at  first  ut- 
terly incurable.  But  Ben  soon  found  a  remedy.  Having 
once,  while  he  lived  in  London,  glanced  his  eye  on  the 
practice  of  this  art,  he  thought  he  could  imitate  it.  And, 
by  casting  in  clay,  he  presently  created  a  fine  parcel  of  let- 
ters in  lead,  which  served  at  least,  to  keep  the  press  from 
stopping.  He  also,  on  occasion,  engraved  a  variety  of  orna- 
ments for  printing — made  ink — gave  an  eye  to  the  shop, 
and,  in  short,  was  in  all  respects  the  factotum  of  the  esta- 
blishment. But  useful  as  he  made  himself,  he  had  the  mor- 
tification to  find  that  his  services  became  every  day  of  less 
importance  to  Keimer,  in  proportion  as  his  apprentices  im- 
proved; and  when  Keimer  paid  Ben  his  second  quarter's 
wages,  he  did  it  very  grumblingly,  and  gave  him  to  under- 
stand, that  they  were  too  heavy.  By  degrees  he  became 
less  civil;  was  constantly  finding  fault,  and  seemed  always 
)ii  the  point  of  coming  to  an  open  rupture. 

Ben  bore  it  all  very  patiently,  conceiving  that  his  ill 
humour  was  owing  to  the  embarrassment  of  his  affairs. 

At  length,  however,  the  old  wretch  insulted  him  so  grossly, 
and  that  under  circumstances  of  all  others  the  most  pro- 
voking to  a  man  of  honest  pride,  i.  e.  in  the  presence  ol 
neighbours,  that  Ben  could  bear  it  no  longer;  but,  after 
upbraiding  him  for  his  ingratitude,  took  up  his  hat  and  left 
him,  begging  a  young  man  of  the  office  to  take  care  of  his 
trunk,  and  bring  it  to  him  at  night. 

The  name  of  this  young  man  was  Meredith,  one  of  Kei- 
mer's  apprentices.  He  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  Ben,  be- 
cause that  while  Keimer,  ignorant  and  crabbed,  taught  him 
nothing,  Ben  was  every  day  giving  him  some  useful  lesson 
in  his  trade,  or  some  excellent  hint  in  morals,  conducive  to 
the  government  and  happiness  of  his  life.  In  the  evening 
he  came  and  entreated  Ben  not  to  think  of  quitting  the  print- 
ing office  while  he  continued  in  it.  "My  dear  sir,"  said 
he  to  Ben,  "  I  beg  you  will  take  no  notice  of  what  this  Kei- 
mer does.  The  poor  man  is  always,  as  you  see,  half  shaved; 
and  no  wonder,  for  he  is  over  head  and  ears  in  debt — oftea 
selling  his  goods  at  prime  cost  for  the  sake  of  cash — con- 
stantly giving  credit  without  taking  any  account;  and  there- 
fore cannot  help  shortly  coming  out  of  the  little  end  of  the 
horn,  which  will  leave  a  glorious  opening  for  you  to  make 
your  fortune."  - 


I) It.  FRANKLIN. 


125 


Hen  replied  that  he  had  nothing  to  begin  with.  "  0,  as  to 
that  difficulty,"  answered  Meredith,  "  we  can  easily  get 
over  it.  My  father  has  a  very  high  opinion  of  you,  and 
will,  I  am  sure,  readily  advance  money  to  set  us  up,  pro- 
vided you  will  but  go  into  partnership  with  me.  I  am 
no  workman,  but  you  are.  And  so,  if  you  like,  I  will 
find  the  capital  and  you  the  skill,  and  let's  go  halves  in  the 
profits.  By  spring  we  can  have  in  from  London,  our  press, 
types,  and  paper,  and  then,  as  my  time  with  Keimer  will  be 
out,  wt  can  fall  to  work  at  once,  and  make  our  jacks." 

As  this  was  an  offer  not  to  be  met  with  every  day,  Ben 
readily  agreed  to  it,  as  also  did  old  Mr.  Meredith. 

But  the  old  gentleman  had  a  better  motive  in  view  than 
the  pecuniary  profits.  He  had  marked,  with  great  pleasure, 
Ben's  ascendancy  over  his  son,  whom  he  had  already  won- 
derfully checked  in  his  passion  for  tobacco  and  brandy. 
And  he  fondly  hoped,  that  by  this  connexion  his  son  would 
be  perfectly  cured. 

With  this  hope,  he  desired  Ben  to  make  him  out  the  list  of 
a  complete  prin^vig-office,  which  he  immediately  took  to  his 
merchant,  with  orders  to  import  it  without  loss  of  time.  Kei- 
mer was  to  know  nothing  of  all  this;  and  Ben,  in  the  inte- 
rim, was  to  get  work  with  Brad  lord. 

On  application,  Bradford  had  no  room.  Ben,  therefore, 
had  to  rest  on  his  oars.  This,  however,  was  but  for  a  short 
season:  for  Keimer  getting  a  hint  that  he  should  be  em- 
ployed to  print  somt  New-Jersey  paper  money,  that  would 
require  engravings  and  types  which  he  knew  nobody  in 
Philadelphia  but  Ben  could  make;  and  fearful  that  Brad- 
ford, by  engaging  Ben,  might  deprive  him  of  the  job,  sent  a 
very  civil  message  to  Ben,  telling  him  that  "  old  friends 
ought  not  to  part  on  account  of  a  few  hasty  ivords  dropt  in 
a  passion,"  and  conducing  with  a  pressing  invitation  to 
come  back. 

Ben  went  back;  and  Keimer  met  him  with  a  most  cordial 
welcome*  Although  there  was  nothing  in  this  poor  old  man 
to  excite  his  esteem,  yet  Ben  could  not  help  feeling  happy 
to  see  smiles  of  joy  brightening  over  his  witnered  face;  and 
ne  then  felt,  though  not  for  the  first  time,  that  though  learn- 
ing is  a  pleasant  thing,  yet  one  touch  of  "  kindred  sentiment 
varm  at  the  heart,"  outweighs,  in  pure  delight,  all  the  learn 
mg  in  the  world. 


11* 


126 


THE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Keimer  presently  obtained  what  he  so  ardently  wished, 
the  printing  of  the  New-Jersey  paper-money,  and  flew  into 
the  office  with  the  news  to  Ben,  who  immediately  set  about 
constructing  a  copper-plate  press,  the  first  that  had  ever 
been  seen  in  Philadelphia.  He  also  engraved  various  orna- 
ments and  devices  for  the  bills;  and  putting  every  thing  in 
readiness  for  their  paper-money  coinage,  he  set  out  with 
Keimer  for  Burlington,  where  the  New-Jersey  legislature 
held  their  session. 

At  the  first  sight  of  Ben's  paper-money,  every  eye  was 
struck  with  its  beauty.  "  Why  this  Keimer  must  he  a  very 
clever  old  fellow  /"  was  the  cry.  But  others  who  were 
deeper  in  the  secret,  replied,  "not  so;  young  Franklin  is 
the  man."  Hereupon  great  attention  was  paid  to  Ben. 
And  he  was  sensibly  taught,  that  though  he  had  been  griev- 
ously tried  and  held  back  in  the  world,  yet  he  had  much 
cause  of  gratitude.  Presently  another  affair  arose,  furnish- 
ing him  fresh  matter  of  congratulation,  that  he  had  ever 
paid  such  attention  to  the  improvement  of  his  mind. 

Fearing  that  our  Philadelphia  printers  might  strike  off 
more  money  bills  than  they  had  been  desired,  the  New-Jer- 
sey Assembly  thought  proper  to  send  two  or  three  commis- 
sioners to  superintend  the  press.  These  gentlemen,  all  of 
the  shrewd  sort,  and  constantly  with  them  while  at  work, 
soon  found  out  the  difference  between  the  master  and  his 
young  journeyman.  Keimer,  though  a  printer,  had  never 
been  a  reader.  Ben  had  devoted  all  his  leisure  hours  to 
reading.  The  one  had  ever  courted  pleasure  in  the  furni- 
ture of  his  mind:  the  other,  popularity  in  the  decorations 
of  his  body.  The  shape  of  his  whiskers;  the  cock  of  his 
hat;  the  cut  of  his  coat,  were  great  things  with  Keimer. 
Every  trick  at  easy  outside  show  was  caught  up  by  him. 
Among  other  dashes  at  popularity,  he  pretended  to  be  a 
freemason,  and  was  constantly  grinning  and  making  his 
signs.  But  it  would  not  all  do.  The  New-Jersey  commis- 
sioners knew  nothing  of  Jachin  and  Boaz.  So  that  though, 
while  Ben,  stripped  to  the  buff,  was  heaving  at  the  press, 
old  Keimer  would  stand  by,  stately  as  a  prince  at  his  levee, 
his  attitude  perpendicular  as  the  plummet,  and  his  feet  per- 
fectly on  the  square,  with  his  gilt  snuff-box  nicely  poised  in 
his  left  hand,  and  his  right,  bespangled  with  rings,  tastily 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


27 


carrying  the  fragrant  Maccabau  to  his  nostrils,  courting  the 
commissioners — yet,  as  before  said,  it  would  not  all  do. 
The  commissioners  wanted  new  ideas,  and  Keimer  had 
none  to  give  them.  He  had  a  pompous  way  of  saying  yes 
or  no.  And  this  was  all  they  could  get  from  him  in  answer 
to  their  questions.  Presently  they  turned  to  Ben,  whom 
by  the  by,  they  hardly  thought  it  worth  while  to  interrogate, 
considering  the  character  of  his  master,  and  his  own  young 
and  raw  appearance.  But  in  place  of  the  old  yes  and  no 
of  master  Keimer,  Ben  gave  them  such  answers  to  their 
""questions,  as  at  once  surprised  and  delighted  them.  He 
was  slow  to  speak,  but  when  the  commissioners,  curious  to 
explore  his  intellect,  which  had  so  unexpectedly  startled 
them,  purposely  put  a  number  of  deep  questions  to  him  on 
the  subject  of  their  paper-money,  such  as  its  effects  on  agri- 
culture and  commerce,  and  the  laws  that  should  regulate  its 
quantity,  lie  answered  all  in  his  own  peculiar  way  of  saga- 
cious brevity,  that  made  them  declare  he  must  have  studied 
nothing  else  all  his  life.  The  reports  which  these  gentle- 
men made  in  his  favour,  produced  their  natural  eifect.  Ben 
was  invited  every  where,  and  treated  with  the  most  flattering 
attention;  while  Keimer,  though  his  employer,  was  entirely 
neglected,  or  invited  only  as  a  compliment  to  Ben. 

Among  the  many  wealthy  and  great  ones,  his  admirers, 
was  the  inspector  general,  Isaac  Deacon,  a  cunning  old  fox, 
and  rich  as  a  Jew.  He  could  never  rest  without  Ben  at 
his  house.  "  Young  man,"  said  he  one  day,  as  Ben  was 
hard  at  work,  "  /  am  mightily  taken  with  you,  and  let  me 
tell  you,  I  never  look  at  you  without  thinking  of  myself,  as 
I  was  at  your  time  of  life.  Now,  do  you  know  what  was 
my  first  employment,  when  I  was  a  boy  ?" 

Ben  replied  that  that  was  a  question  beyond  his  reach. 

"  Well  then,  I  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  you  can  but  believe 
me.  I'll  tell  you.  My  first  employment  was  to  carry  clay 
to  the  brick-makers!" 

"  Impossible!"  said  Ben. 

6*  No,  indeed,  not  impossible  at  all,  but  very  certain. 
Yes,  many  a  hot  day  have  I  carried  the  clay,  and  so  daubed 
with  it  all  over,  that  my  own  mother  would  hardly  have  told 
me  from  her  house  pig.  Well,  after  that  I  became  an  un- 
derling to  a  surveyor,  and  dragged  his  chain  many  a  day 
through  the  woods;  and  all  the  time  did  not  know  '  B  from 
a  bulPs  footS  But  the  surveyor  was  a  good  man,  sir,  and 
taught  me  to  read  and  write.  Ah!  them  were  dark  times,  sir, 


128 


THE  LIFE  OF 


dark  times;  all  living  here  like  Indians  in  the  woods.  A 
young  man,  printing  his  books  and  pictures  like  you,  would 
have  been  looked  on  as  a  conjurer.  And  now  let  me  tell 
you  one  thing.  Don't  you  be  discouraged,  but  keep  up  a 
good  heart.  A  little,  making  every  day,  makes  a  great 
deal  in  a  long  life.  And  I  am  mistaken  if  you  don't  make  a 
fortune,  and  come  out  a  great  man  yet  some  of  these  days." 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Having  finished  printing  the  New-Jersey  money,  Ben, 
accompanied  by  Keimer,  set  out  for  Philadelphia,  where  he 
had  scarcely  arrived  before  in  came  Meredith,  with  a  face 
of  joy,  and  taking  Ben  aside,  told  him  that  their  press  and 
types  were  all  come.  Immediately  the  two  friends  went 
forth  in  search  of  a  good  house  and  stand,  which  they  were 
so  lucky  as  to  find  near  the  market,  at  twenty-four  pounds 
a  year  I  The  fixing  and  putting  all  their  things  to  rights, 
having  consumed  every  penny  of  their  money,  our  young 
beginners  were  at  their  wit's  end  what  to  be  at.  In  this 
extremity,  one  of  their  acquaintance,  a  Mr.  George  House, 
brought  them  a  countryman  who  wanted  some  advertise- 
ments for  a  cow  he  had  lost.  Ben  soon  had  the  old  cow  up 
for  him  in  a  "  staring"  shape,  which  so  pleased  the  honest 
rustic,  that  he  instantly  counted  them  down  their  Jive 
shillings.  Never  did  five  shillings  come  more  acceptably. 
The  gratitude  which  Ben  felt  towards  George  House  for 
this  little  kindness,  fixed  on  him  a  determination  from  that 
day,  "  never  to  miss  an  opportunity  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to 
young  beginners." 

His  favourite  young  Hercules,  the  printing-office, 
which  had  been  so  long  labouring  in  his  brain,  being  now 
happily  brought  to  birth,  Ben  determined  immediately  U 
give  it  the  countenance  and  support  of  another  noble  bantling 
of  his  own.  I  allude  to  his  famous  club,  called  the  « Junto," 
a  kind  of  Robinhood  society,  composed  of  young  men  desi- 
rous of  improving  themselves  in  knowledge  and  elocution, 
and  who  met  one  night  every  week,  to  discuss  some  inter- 
esting question  in  morals,  politics,  or  philosophy. 

The  members  at  first  were  but  few ;  but  Ben,  now  a  com- 
plete master  of  his  pen,  made  such  a  dash  with  their  speeches 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


129 


in  his  newspaper,  that  the  Junto  soon  got  to  be  the  talk  of 
the  town;  ant1  members  were  added  to  it  daily.  Ben  was 
unanimously  appointed  moderator  of  the  club;  and  in  re- 
ward for  the  great  pleasure  and  profit  derived  from  tin* 
noble,  mind-improving  institution,  the  members  all  agreed 
to  support  his  printing-office.  This  was  of  service;  but  its 
principal  support  was  derived  from  a  still  higher  source;  I 
mean  his  own  astonishing  industry.  No  sooner  was  it  known 
in  town  that  Ben  had  set  up  a  new  paper  and  press,  under 
the  very  nose  of  two  others,  Keimer's  and  Bradford's,  than 
it  became  a  matter  of  speculation  whether  it  could  possibly 
stand.  The  generality  gave  into  the  negative.  But  Dr. 
Bard,  a  shrewd  old  Scotchman,  who  well  knew  the  effect  of 
persevering  industry  on  young  men's  fortunes,  laughed 
heartily  at  the  doubters.  "  Stand,"  said  he,  "  gentlemen! 
Yes,  take  my  word  it  will  stand.  The  industry  of  that 
young  Franklin  will  make  any  thing  stand.  I  see  him  still 
at  work  when  I  return  from  my  patients  at  midnight,  and  he 
is  at  it  again  in  the  morning  before  his  neighbours  are  out 
of  bed."  Ben  was  fairly  entitled  to  his  praise.  He  gene- 
rally composed  and  corrected  ten  to  twelve  thousand  m's  a 
day,  though  it  constantly  took  him  till  near  midnight.  But 
so  intent  was  he  on  finishing  this  incredible  task,  that  when 
accident  had  deranged  a  good  half  of  his  hard  day's  work, 
he  has  been  known  to  fall  to  work  and  set  it  up  again  before 
he  went  to  bed. 

The  reputation  acquired  by  this  industry,  made  such  an  im- 
pression in  his  favour,  that  the  merchants,  many  of  them,  made 
him  liberal  offers  of  their  stationary  on  credit.  But,  not  wishing 
to  have  "too  many  irons  in  the  fire"  he  declined  their  offers, 
which  added  to  his  reputation  of  an  industrious  young  man, 
that  of  an  upright  and  cautious  one.  This  is  mentioned,  not 
so  much  for  praise  of  the  dead,  as  for  a  hint  to  the  living. 

Business  began  now  to  make  a  flood-tide  movement  in  the 
new  printing-office,  and  Ben  made  such  good  use  of  it,  and 
picked  up  money  so  fast,  that  he  was  in  hopes  he  had  near- 
ly thrown  all  his  troubles  over  the  64  left  shoulder  "  But  in 
this  he  was  miserably  mistaken;  for  presently,  as  if  ihp**e 
was  to  be  no  end  to  troubles,  there  leaped  out  an  other  j  mov  * 
alarming  than  all  before.  Old  Meredith,  finding  that  Ben 
had  not  cured  his  son  of  his  drunken  fits,  took  a  miff,  and  all 
at  once  backed  out  of  his  promise  to  pay  for  their  press  and 
printing  materials!  and  the  merchant  who  imported  these 
rostiy  articles,  and  who  had  for  some  time  been  expecting 


130 


TPIE  LIFE  OF 


his  money,  commenced  a  suit,  and  threatened  immediate 

execution ! 

Poor  Ben!  Imagination  sees  him,  at  first,  standing  like  a 
luckless  merchant,  who,  after  two  noble  ventures  swallowed 
up,  now  beholds  the  breakers  that  are  to  swallow  up  his  third, 
and  last  hope — "  Yes,"  thought  he,  "  but  a  few  short  weeks 
and  my  press  and  type  will  be  under  the  hammer;  all  my 
delightful  hopes  annihilated;  and  myself  turned  adrift  on 
the  wide  world  again!" 

At  this  perilous  moment,  when  nothing  but  infamy  and 
ruin  stared  him  in  the  face,  God  was  pleased  to  cause  his 
own  virtues  to  leap  forth  like  an  armed  Minerva,  with 
shield  and  buckler  tor  his  defence.  His  industry  and  pru- 
dence having,  as  aforesaid,  been  trumpeted  through  the  town, 
the  public  feelings  were  greatly  excited  by  his  misfortunes. 
"  Shame,"  said  they,  «  that  such  a  young  man  should  fall. 
Jls  to  that  drunken  fellow,  that  Meredith,  no  matter  how  soon 
he  is  stripped  and  sent  to  jail.  But  this  Franklin  must  not 
fall for  want  of  a  little  help.  It  were  a  disgrace  to  the  town. " 
Accordingly  several  gentlemen,  two  at  least  are  recorded, 
Coleman  and  Grace,  without  each  other's  knowledge,  called 
on  him,  and  tendered  whatever  sum  he  should  want! — but 
hoping  at  the  same  time  he  would,  if  possible,  get  quit  of 
Meredith,  who  only  served  to  disgrace  and  injure  him;  being 
often  seen  at  taverns  and  gambling  tables. 

A  relief  so  unexpected,  and  in  .a  manner  too  so  flatter- 
ing, produced  on  the  mind  of  Ben,  a  satisfaction  beyond  ex- 
pression. After  making  the  best  acknowledgments  he  could 
to  such  noble  benefactors,  he  begged  they  would  allow  him  a 
day  or  two  to  effect,  if  possible,  an  honourable  separation 
from  Meredith.  Fortunately  he  found  no  difficulty  in  this: 
for  Meredith,  heartily  sick  of  the  business,  readily  agreed, 
for  a  small  consideration,  to  give  him  up  the  printing-office  to 
himself.  Ben  then  called  on  his  two  friends,  accepted  the 
proffered  supply,  taking  exactly  one  half  from  each  for 
fear  of  offending  either,  and  making  full  settlement  with  the 
Merediths,  took  the  whole  business  into  his  own  hands. 

Ben's  extreme  alarm  from  the  danger  of  having  his  print- 
ing-office seized,  and  its  fortunate  rescue  by  the  amiable 
Coleman  and  Grace,  has  been  very  briefly  narrated.  But 
transient  as  this  event  may  seem  in  our  narrative,  it  pro- 
duced on  his  feelings  a  glow  of  gratitude  which  kings  might 
envy;  and  it  led  to  an  act  which  Angels  would  glory  in. 
The  reader  shall  hear  all  in  good  time. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


131 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Having  now  got  the  printing-office  in  his  own  hands, 
Ben  began  to  find  the  unspeakable  advantage  of  his  past  la- 
bours to  acquire  ideas,  and  to  convey  them  handsomely  by 
his  pen.  The  town  and  country  getting  at  this  time  prodi- 
giously excited  about  a  paper  currency,  Ben  came  out  with 
a  most  luminous  pamphlet,  on  "  The  advantages  and  dis- 
advantages of  a  paper  currency."  The  pamphlet  gave 
such  satisfaction  to  the  legislature,  that  they  rewarded  him 
with  the  printing  of  all  their  money  bills.  His  pamphlet  pro- 
ducing the  same  effect  on  the  legislature  of  Delaware,  they 
rewarded  him  in  the  same  way — as  also  did  both  these  le- 
gislatures by  throwing  into  his  way  several  other  jobs  of 
public  printing. 

Money  now  coming  in,  he  went  at  once,  and  paid  his 
good  friends  Coleman  and  Grace  what  they  had  so  nobly  lent 
him.  With  a  light  heart  he  then  wiped  off  that  old  score  of 
Vernon's,  which  had  given  him  so  much  uneasiness,  but 
which  now  receipted  in  full,  principal  and  interest,  made 
him  feel  himself  the  freest,  and  therefore  the  happiest  man 
in  Pennsylvania.  Money  still  coming  in,  he  fitted  up  a  few 
shelves  in  the  front  room  of  his  printing-office,  where  he 
spread  out  an  assortment  of  Books,  Blanks,  Paper  and 
Quills;  but  all  in  the  small  way — for  he  always  thought, 
that  though 

"  Vessels  large  may  venture  more, 
Vet  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore." 

Like  a  ship  that  after  long  tacking  against  winds  and  tides, 
through  dangerous  straits  and  shallows,  has  at  last  got  safely 
out  on  the  main  ocean  flood,  and  at  liberty  to  lay  her  own 
course;  such  was  now  the  condition  of  Ben;  who  hereupon 
felt  it  his  duty  immediately  to  take  on  board  those  two  grand 
guides  and  guardians  of  his  voyage— religion  and  a  good 
wife. 

As  to  religion — the  grum  looks  and  bitter  sectarian  ani- 
mosities of  the  christians  in  those  wretched  days,  had  early 
made  a  deist  of  him;  and  he,  in  turn,  had  made  deists  ot 
others,  as  Collins  and  Ralph.  But  on  coming  to  test  the  thing 
by  its  fruits,  he  found  that  this  new  religion  (deism)  was  not 
yet  the  religion  he  could  admire.  He  found  that  poor  Col- 
lins, with  all  his  deism,  was  but  a  drunkard — Ralph,  an  un  - 
grateful swindler — governor  Keith,  a  great  rascal — and  even 


132 


THE  LIFE  OF 


nimself,  though  a  prime  deist,  yet  in  his  treatment  of  Miss 
Read,  as  culpable  as  any  of  them  all.  This  led  him  to  a 
train  of  thought  which  resulted  in  the  conclusion,  that  though 
he  could  not  conceive  that  bad  actions  are  bad,  merely  be- 
cause revelation  forbids  them;  nor  good  actions  good,  because 
revelation  enjoins  them;  yet  he  doubted  not  but  the  former 
were  forbidden,  because  they  are  hurtful,  and  the  latter  en- 
joined because  they  are  beneficial  to  us — all  things  consider- 
ed. On  this  grand  principle  then,  the  inseparable  connexion 
between  vice  and  misery,  and  virtue  and  happiness,  he 
determined  from  that  day  to  shun  the  one,  and  embrace 
the  other  $  thus  summing  up  his  religion  in  those  beautiful 
lines: — 

"  What  CONSCIENCE  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do ; 
This  leach  me  more  than  HELL  to  shun, 

That  more  than  HEAVEN  pursue." 

So  much  for  his  religion.  As  to  his  wife,  his  behaviour  ir 
this  respect  seems  to  have  shown  that  there  was  some  sub 
stance  in  the  religious  ground  he  had  taken.  Having,  at 
the  time  of  his  sad  disappointment  in  London,  and  when  he 
despaired  of  ever  marrying  her,  neglected  his  old  sweetheart 
Miss  Read,  he  resolved,  now  that  he  was  getting  into  bettei 
circumstances,  to  make  her  all  the  amends  in  his  power. 
?Tis  true,  her  mother,  who  had  prevented  the  marriage  be- 
fore he  set  off  for  England,  and  during  his  absence  had  pre- 
vailed on  her  to  marry  another  lover,  was  most  in  fault, 
and  actually  acquitted  him,  laying  the  blame  altogether  at 
her  own  door. — But  Ben  never  acquitted  himself:  he  felt 
condemned,  and  would  therefore  accept  no  absolution  while 
he  could  make  reparation.  He  renewed  his  visits  to  the  fa- 
mily, who  were  rejoiced  to  see  him.  He  saw  his  old  sweet- 
heart, Miss  Read ;  but  O  how  altered  from  her  who,  former- 
ly bright  with  love  and  joy,  used  to  fly  to  the  door  to  wel- 
come his  coming!  How  altered  from  her,  whose  rosy  cheeks 
crimsoned  with  blushes,  he  so  fondly  kissed  at  taking  leave 
for  England,  with  sweetest  promises  of  speedy  return  and 
blissful  marriage.  Pale  and  wan  were  her  looks,  where  she 
sat  silent  and  retired,  and  often  deeply  sighing,  like  one 
much  troubled  in  mind,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love.  She 
never  reminded  him  of  his  "  troth  and  broken  vows"  But 
such  patient  suffering  served  but  the  more  co  harrow  up  his 
feelings.  Each  stifled  sigh  sounded  in  his  ear  as  a  death- 
bell;  and  each  tender  glance  carried  a  point  keener  than  the 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  133 


lightning's  fork.  In  a  word,  his  heart  was  completely  torn,  and 
he  had  wisdom  to  seek  its  only  cure — reconciliation  with  the 
injured.  'Tis  true,  pride  whispered  that  Miss  Read,  having 
treated  him  with  great  disrespect  by  marrying  in  his  absence, 
ought  to  be  punished.  But  how  could  he  think  of  revenge 
on  a  poor  girl,  whom  his  own  neglect  had  driven  to  that  des- 
perate act!  Avarice,  too,  remonstrated  against  marrying  a 
woman,  whose  last  husband  had  left  debts  which  he  might 
be  ruined  to  pay.  But  Ben  felt  resolved,  that  as  he  had  ren- 
dered this  dear  woman  unhappy,  he  would  restore  her  peace, 
whatever  might  be  the  cost.  As  the  coming  forth  of  the 
sun  after  clouds,  such  was  the  shining  of  conscious  virtue 
on  Ben's  face,  after  such  noble  resolving.  As  a  flower  after 
long  mourning  its  absent  sun,  rejoices  again  in  his  returning 
beams;  so  the  soul  of  Miss  Read  rejoiced  in  the  smiles  of  her 
returning  lover.  The  hearts  of  her  aged  parents  revived 
with  the  cheerful  rose  once  more  blooming  on  her  pallid 
cheek;  and  heaven  itself  shed  choicest  blessings  on  their 
happy  union. 

No  debts  of  the  former  husband  were  ever  exhibited  against 
them.  No  foe  was  permitted  to  triumph.  And  while  old 
Keimer,  after  all  his  roguery,  was  fain  to  run  away  from 
his  creditors  to  the  West  Indies,  where  he  died  in  poverty — 
and  while  his  successor,  Harry,  elated  with  a  puff  of  pros- 
perity, and  affecting  the  fine  gentleman,  soon  came  out 
at  the  little  end  of  the  horn,  Ben  and  his  lovely  bride,  going 
on  in  their  virtuous  toils,  prospered  together  like  twin  trees 

f>lanted  by  the  rivers  of  water.  Lured  by  her  pleasant 
ooks,  the  book-store,  over  which  she  presided,  was  con- 
stantly thronged  ;  and  equally  pleased  with  the  neatness  and 
fidelity  of  his  printing,  Ben's  press  was  always  at  work. 
Happy  in  the  tender  wish  to  please,  "  each  was  to  the  other 
a  dearer  self."  And  whether  their  duties  called  them  to  the 
kitchen,  the  book -store,  or  the  printing-office,  they  still 
found,  in  their  mutual  love,  that  divine  cordial  which  light- 
ened every  burden  and  sweetened  every  care.  Their  table, 
though  frugal,  was  delicious,  because  seasoned  with  smiles 
of  mutual  fondness.  And  doubly  welcome  the  return  of 
night,  where  Hymen,  unreprovecl,  had  lighted  up  his  sacred 
torch;  and  where  pressed  to  the  soft  bosom  of  his  affectionate 
spouse,  the  happy  husband  could  take  his  fill  of  pure  con 
nubial  bliss,  without  remorse  or  dread  of  danger.  Such 
were  the  benefits  which  Ben  derived  from  his  generous 

12 


134 


THE  LIFE  OF 


dealings  with  the  afflicted  Miss  Read;  and  as  a  farther  re- 
ward, it  was  in  this  self  same  year,  that  Ben  was  enabled  to 
incorporate  his  grand  library-company. 

This  first  of  social  blessings,  a  Public  Library,  was  set 
on  foot  by  Franklin,  about  the  year  1731.  Fifty  persons 
subscribed  forty  shillings  each,  and  agreed  to  pay  ten  shil- 
lings annually.  The  number  increased;  and  in  1742,  the 
company  was  incorporated,  by  the  name  of  "The  Library 
Company  of  Philadelphia."  It  now  contains  eight  thousand 
volumes  on  all  subjects,  a  philosophical  apparatus,  and  a 
good  beginning  towards  a  collection  of  natural  and  artificial 
curiosities.  The  company  have  lately  built  an  elegant  house 
in  Fifth  street,  on  the  front  of  which  is  erected  a  marble 
statue  of  their  founder,  Benjamin  Franklin.* 

The  beneficial  influence  of  this  institution  was  soon  evi- 
dent. The  cheapness  of  terms  rendered  it  accessible  to 
every  one.  Hence  a  degree  of  information  was  extended 
among  all  classes  of  people,  which  is  very  unusual  in  other 
places.  The  example  was  soon  followed.  Libraries  were 
established  in  various  places,  and  they  are  now  become  very 
numerous  in  the  United  States,  and  particularly  in  Pennsyl- 
vania. It  is  to  be  hoped,  that  they  will  be  still  more  widely 
extended,  and  that  information  will  be  every  where  increased. 
This  will  be  the  best  security  for  our  liberties.  Ji  nation 
who  has  been  taught  to  know  and  prize  the  rights  which 
God  has  given  them,  cannot  be  enslaved.  It  is  in  the 
regions  of  ignorance  alone  that  tyranny  reigns. 

In  1732,  Franklin  began  to  publish  POOR  RICHARD'S 
ALMANAC. 

The  eloquent  Charles  Fox  used  to  say,  that  had  Doctor 
Franklin  written  nothing  else,  his  "Poor  Richard's  Alma- 
nac" were  alone  sufficient  to  immortalize  him.  Instead  of 
being  taken  up,  as  too  many  Almanacs  are,  with  trifling 
stories  and  fool-born  jests,  it  abounds  wjth  the  finest  maxims 
on  Industry,  Temperance,  and  Frugality,  thrown  together 
with  astonishing  conciseness,  and  written  with  that  happy 
mixture  of  gravity  and  gaiety  that  captivates  every  body, 
and  never  tires.  It  .took  a  wonderful  run.  From  10  to 
15,000  a  year  were  generally  sold  in  Pennsylvania.  And 
to  this  Almanac,  in  a  considerable  measure,  may  be  ascribed 
that  wonderful  start  which  Pennsylvania  has  taken  of  the 


*  The  gift  of  William  Bingham,  Esq. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


137 


Doing  come,  they  were  conversing  on  the  badness  of  the 
times  $  and  one  of  the  company  called  to  a  plain,  clean  old 
man,  with  white  locks,  "  Pray,  father  Abraham,  what  think 
you  of  the  times  ?  Will  not  these  heavy  taxes,  quite  ruin 
the  country?  How  shall  we  be  ever  able  to  pay  them?  What 
would  you  advise  us  to  do  ?"  Father  Abraham  stood  up, 
and  replied,  "  If  you  would  have  my  advice,  I  will  give  it 
you  in  short;  'for  a  word  to  the  wise  is  enough,'  as  poor 
Richard  says."  They  joined  in  desiring  him  to  speak  his 
mind,  and  gathering  round  him,  he  proceeded  as  follows: — 
Friends,  said  he,  the  taxes  are,  indeed,  very  heavy;  and, 
if  those  laid  on  by  the  government,  were  the  only  ones  we 
had  to  pay,  we  might  more  easily  discharge  them;  but  we 
have  many  others,  and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of 
us.  We  are  taxed  twice  as  much  by  our  idleness,  three 
times  as  much  by  our  pride,  and  four  times  as  much  by  our 
folly;  and  from  these  taxes  the  commissioners  cannot  ease 
or  deliver  us,  by  allowing  an  abatement  However  let  us 
hearken  to  good  advice,  and  something  may  be  done  for  us; 
"God  helps  them  that  help  themselves,"  as  poor  Richard- 
says. 

I.  It  will  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  should  tax 
its  people  one  tenth  part  of  their  time,  to  be  employed  in  its 
service:  but  idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more;  sloth,  by 
bringing  on  diseases,  absolutely  shortens  life.  "  Sloth,  like 
rust,  consumes  faster  than  labour  wears,  while  the  used  key 
is  always  bright,"  as  poor  Richard  says.  "  But  dost  thou 
love  life,  then  do  not  squander  time,  for  that  is  the  stuff  life 
is  made  of,"  as  poor  Richard  says.  How  much  more  than 
is  necessary  do  we  spend  in  sleep?  forgetting  that  the  sleep- 
ing fox  catches  no  poultry,  and  that  "there  will  be  sleeping 
enough  in  the  grave,"  as  poor  Richard  says. 

"  If  time  be  of  all  things  the  most  precious,  wasting  time 
must  be,"  as  poor  Richard  says,  "the  greatest  prodigality;" 
since,  as  he  elsewhere  tells  us,  "  lost  time  is  never  found 
again;  and  what  we  call  time  enough,  always  proves  little 
enough;"  let  us  then  up  and  be  doing,  and  doing  to  the  pur- 
pose; so  by  diligence  shall  we  do  more  with  less  perplexity. 
"  Sloth  makes  all  things  difficult,  but  industry  all  easy;  and 
tie  that  riscth  late5  must  trot  all  day,  and  shall  scarce  over 
take  his  business  at  night;  while  laziness  travels  so  slowly, 
that  poverty  soon  overtakes  him.  Drive  thy  business,  let 
not  that  drive  thee;  and  early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise,  makes 
a  man  healthy,  wealthy  and  wise,"  as  pom  Richard  says. 
12* 


,38 


THE  LIFE  OF 


So  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  times?  we 
may  make  these  times  better,  if  we  bestir  ourselves.  "  In- 
dustry need  not  wish,  and  he  that  lives  upon  hope  will  die 
fasting.  There  are  no  gains  without  pains;  then,  help 
hands  for  I  have  no  lands,''  or  if  I  have  they  are  smartly 
taxed.  "  He  that  hath  a  trade,  hath  an  estate;  and  he  that 
hath  a  calling,  hath  an  office  of  profit  and  honour,"  as  poor 
Richard  says;  but  then  the  trade  must  be  worked  at,  and  the 
calling  well  followed,  or  neither  the  estate  nor  the  office 
will  enable  us  to  pay  our  taxes.  If  we  are  industrious,  we 
will  never  starve;  for  at  the  working  man's  house,  "  hunger 
looks  in  but  dares  not  enter."  Nor  will  the  bailiff  or  the 
constable  enter,  for  "industry  pays  debts,  while  despair  in- 
creaseth  them."  What,  though  you  have  found  no  treasure, 
nor  has  any  rich  relation  left  you  a  legacy,  "  diligence  is 
the  mother  of  good  luck,  and  God  gives  all  things  to  industry. 
Then  plough  deep  while  sluggards  sleep,  and  you  shall  have 
corn  to  sell  and  to  keep." 

"  Work  while  it  is  called  to-day,  for  you  know  not  how 
much  you  may  be  hindered  to-morrow.  One  to-day  is  worth 
two  to-morrows,"  as  poor  Richard  says;  and  farther,  "  never 
leave  that  till  to-morrow,  which  you  can  do  to-day."  If 
you  were  a  servant,  would  you  not  be  ashamed  that  a  good 
master  should  catch  you  idle  ?  Are  you  then  your  own  mas- 
ter ?  be  ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle  when  there  is  so 
much  to  be  done  for  yourself,  your  family,  your  relations, 
and  your  country.  Handle  your  tools  without  mittens:  re- 
member that  u  the  cat  in  gloves  catches  no  mice,"  as  poor 
Richard  says.  It  is  true,  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and, 
perhaps,  you  are  weak-handed;  but  stick  to  it  steadily,  and 
you  will  see  great  effects;  for  64  constant  dropping  wears 
away  stones;  and  by  diligence  and  patience  the  mouse  ate 
in  two  the  cable;  and  little  strokes  fell  great  oaks." 

Methinks  I  hear  some  of  you  say,  "  must  a  man  afford 
himself  no  leisure?"  I  will  tell  thee,  my  friend,  what  poor 
Richard  says;  "  employ  thy  time  well,  if  thou  meanest  to 
gain  leisure;  and,  since  thou  art  not  sure  of  a  minute,  throw 
not  away  an  hour.  Leisure  is  time  for  doing  something 
useful;  this  leisure  the  diligent  man  will  obtain,  but  the 
lazy  man  never;  for,  a  "  life  of  leisure  and  a  life  of  laziness 
are  two  things.  Many,  without  labour  would  live  by  their 
wits  only,  but  they  break  for  want  of  stock:  whereas  in- 
dustry gives  comfort,  and  plenty,  and  respect."  44  Fly  plea- 
sures, anf*  thry  will  follow  you.    The  diligent  spinner  ha« 


DR.  FRANKLIN- 


139 


k  large  shift;  and  now  I  have  a  sheep  and  a  cow,  every 
body  bids  me  good-morrow." 

II.  But  with  our  industry,  we  must  likewise  be  steady, 
settled  and  careful,  and  oversee  our  own  affairs  with  our 
own  eyes,  and  not  trust  too  much  to  others;  for,  as  poor 
Richard  says, 

u  I  never  saw  an  oft  removed  tree, 
N  »r  yet  an  oft  removed  family, 
That  throve  so  well  as  those  that  settled  he. 

And  again,  "  three  removes  are  as  bad  as  a  fire;"  and 
Again,  "  keep  thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will  keep  thee;"  and 
again,  "  if  you  would  have  your  business  done,  go;  if  not, 
send."    And  again, 

"  He  that  by  the  plough  would  thrive, 
Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive." 

And  again,  "the  eye  of  a  master  will  do  more  work  than 
both  his  hands;"  and  again,  "want  of  care  does  us  more 
damage  than  want  of  knowledge:"  and  again,  44  not  to  over- 
see workmen  is  to  leave  them  your  purse  open."  Trusting 
too  much  to  others'  care  is  the  ruin  of  many;  for,  "in  the 
affairs  of  this  world,  men  are  saved,  not  by  faith,  but  by 
the  want  of  it;  but  a  man's  own  care  is  profitable;"  for,  "  if 
you  would  have  a  faithful  servant,  and  one  that  you  like, 
serve  yourself.  A  little  neglect  may  breed  great  mischief; 
for  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost;  for  want  of  a  shoe  the 
horse  was  lost;  and  for  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost, 
being  overtaken  and  slain  by  the  enemy:  all  for  want  of  a 
little  care  about  a  horse-shoe  nail." 

III.  So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to 
one's  own  business;  but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality,  if 
we  would  make  our  industry  more  certainly  successful.  A 
man  may,  if  he  knows  not  how  to  save  as  he  gets,  "keep 
his  nose  all  his  life  to  the  grindstone,  and  die  not  worth  a 
groat  at  last.    A  fat  kitchen  makes  a  lean  will;"  and, 

"  Many  estates  are  spent  in  the  getting, 

Since  women  for  tea  forsook  spuming  and  knitting, 

And  men  for  punch  forsook  hewing  and  splitting."  v 

It  you  would  be  wealthy,  think  of  saving  as  well  as  ot 
getting.  The  Indies  have  not  made  Spain  rich  because  her 
outgoes  are  greater  than  her  incomes. 

Av,'iy  then  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will  not 
then  have  so  much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times,  heavv 
taxes,  and  chargeable  families;  for, 


140 


THE  LIFE  OF 


"Women  and  wine,  game  and  deceit, 
Make  the  wealtii  small,  and  the  want  great." 

And  farther,  "  what  maintains  one  vice  will  bring  up  two 
children."  You  may  think,  perhaps,  that  a  little  tea,  or  a 
little  punch  now  and  then,  diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes 
a  little  finer,  and  a  little  entertainment  now  and  then,  can 
be  no  great  matter;  but  remember,  "  many  a  little  makes  a 
mickle."  Beware  of  little  expenses;  "  a  small  leak  wil 
sink  a  great  ship,"  as  poor  Richard  says;  and  again,  '«  who 
dainties  love,  shall  beggars  prove;"  and  moreover,  "fools 
make  feasts,  and  wise  men  eat  them."  Here  you  are  all 
got  together  to  this  sale  of  fineries  and  nicknacks.  You 
call  them  goods,  but  if  you  do  not  take  care  they  will  prove 
evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect  they  will  be  sold  cheap, 
and,  perhaps,  they  may,  for  less  than  they  cost;  but,  if  you 
have  no  occasion  for  them,  they  must  be  dear  to  you.  Re- 
member what  poor  Richard  says,  "  buy  what  thou  hast  no 
need  of,  and  ere  long  thou  shalt  sell  thy  necessaries."  And 
again,  "  at  a  great  pennyworth  pause  awhile;"  he  means 
that  perhaps  the  cheapness  is  apparent  only,  and  not  reai 
or  the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in  thy  business,  may  do 
thee  more  harm  than  good.  For  in  another  place  he  says, 
6 6 many  have  been  ruined  by  buying  great  pennyworths." 
Again,  *<  it  is  foolish  to  lay  out  money  in  a  purchase  of 
repentance:"  and  yet  this  folly  is  practised  every  day  at 
auctions,  for  want  of  minding  the  Almanac.  Many  a  one, 
for  the  sake  of  finery  on  the  back,  have  gone  with  a  hungry 
belly,  and  half  starved  their  families;  "  silks  and  sattins, 
scarlet  and  velvets,  put  out  the  kitchen  fire,"  as  poor 
Richard  says.  These  are  not  the  necessaries  of  life,  they 
can  scarcely  be  called  the  conveniences:  and  yet  only  be- 
cause they  look  pretty,  how  many  want  to  have  them.  By 
these,  and  other  extravagances,  the  genteel  are  reduced  to 
poverty,  and  forced  to  borrow  of  those  whom  they  formerly 
despised,  but  who  through  industry  and  frugality  have  main- 
tained their  standing;  in  which  case  it  appears  plainly,  that 
"  a  gloughman  on  his  legs  is  higher  than  a  gentleman  on  his 
knees,"  as  poor  Richard  says.  Perhaps  they  have  had  a 
small  estate  left  them,  which  they  knew  not.  the  getting  of: 
they  think  "  it  is  day,  and  will  never  be  night;"  that  a  little 
to  be  spent  out  of  so  much  is  not  worth  minding:  but 
"always  taking  out  of  the  meal-tub,  and  never  putting  in, 
soon  comes  to  the  bottom,"  as  poor  Richard  says;  and  then, 
4  when  the  well  is  dry,  they  know  the  worth  of  water.' 


FRANKLIN 


HI 


Hut  this  they  might  have  known  before,  if  they  had  taken 
his  advice.  "  If  you  would  know  the  value  of  money,  go 
and  try  to  borrow  some;  for  he  that  goes  a  borrowing  goes 
a  sorrowing,"  as  poor  Richard  says;  and,  indeed,  so  does  he 
that  lends  to  such  people,  when  he  goes  to  get  it  again, 
Poor  Dick  farther  advises,  and  says, 

"Fond  pride  of  dress  is  sure;  a  very  curse, 
Ere  fancy  you  consult,  consult  your  ,,urse." 

And  again,  "  pride  is  as  loud  a  beggar  as  want,  and  a  great 
deal  more  saucy."  When  you  have  bought  one  fine  thing, 
you  must  buy  ten  more,  that  your  appearance  may  be  all 
of  a  piece;  but  poor  Dick  says,  "it  is  easier  to  suppress  the 
first  desire,  than  to  satisfy  all  that  follow  it."  And  it  is  as 
truly  folly  for  the  poor  to  ape  the  rich,  as  for  the  frog  to 
swell  to  equal  the  ox. 

"  Vessels  large,  may  venture  more^ 
But  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore." 

It  is,  however, a  folly  soon  punished;  for,  as  poor  Richard 
says,  "  pride  breakfasted  with  plenty,  dined  with  poverty, 
and  supped  with  infamy."  And,  after  all,  of  what  use  is 
this  pride  of  appearance,  for  which  so  much  is  risked,  so 
much  is  suffered?  It  cannot  promote  health,  nor  ease  pain; 
it  makes  no  increase  of  merit  in  the  person,  it  creates  envy, 
it  hastens  misfortune. 

But  what  madness  must  it  be  to  run  in  debt  for  these 
superfluities?  We  are  offered,  by  the  terms  of  this  sale, 
six  months  credit;  and  that,  perhaps,  has  induced  some  of 
us  to  attend  it,  because  we  cannot  spare  the  ready  money, 
and  hope  now  to  be  fine  without  it.  But  ah!  think  what 
you  do  when  you  run  in  debt;  you  give  to  another  power 
over  your  liberty.  If  you  cannot  pay  at  the  time,  you  will 
be  ashamed  to  see  your  creditor ;  you  will  be  in  fear  when 
you  speak  to  him  ;  you  will  make  poor,  pitiful,  sneakiiig  ex- 
cuses,  and  by  degrees,  come  to  lose  your  veracity,  and  sink 
into  base,  downright  lying  ;  for  "  the  second  vice  is  lying, 
the  first  is  running  in  debt,"  as  poor  Richard  says;  and 
again,  to  the  same  purpose,  "  lying  rides  on  debt's  back;" 
whereas  a  free  American  ought  not  to  be  ashamed,  nor  afraid 
to  see  or  speak  to  any  man  living.  But  poverty  often  de- 
prives a  man  of  all  spirit  and  virtue.  "  It  is  hard  for  an 
empty  bag  to  stand  upright."  What  would  you  think  of 
that  nation,  or  of  that  government,  who  should  issue  an 
edict,  fobidding  you  to  dress  like  a  gentleman  or  gentlewo- 


THE  LIFE  OF 


man,  on  pain  of  imprisonment  or  servitude?  Would  yon 
not  say  that  you  were  free;  have  a  right  to  dress  as  you 
please,  and  that  such  an  edict  would  be  a  breach  of  your 
privileges,  and  such  a  government  tyrannical?  And  yet  you 
are  about  to  put  yourself  under  that  tyranny  when  you  run 
into  debt  for  such  a  dress!  your  creditor  has  authority,  at 
nis  pleasure,  to  deprive  you  of  your  liberty,  by  confining  you 
in  jail  for  life,  or  by  selling  you  for  a  servant,  if  you  should 
not  be  able  to  pay  him:  when  you  have  got  your  bargain,  you 
may  perhaps  think  little  of  payment;  but  as  poor  Richard 
says,  "  creditors  have  better  memories  than  debtors;  credit- 
ors are  a  superstitious  set,  great  observers  of  set  days 
and  times."  The  day  comes  round  before  you  are  aware, 
and  the  demand  is  made  before  you  are  prepared  to  satisfy 
it;  or,  if  you  bear  your  debt  in  mind,  the  term,  which  at 
first  seemed  so  long,  will,  as  it  lessens,  appear  extremely 
short;  time  will  seem  to  have  added  wings  to  his  heels,  as 
well  as  his  shoulders.  "  Those  have  a  short  Lent,  who 
owe  money  at  Easter."  At  present,  perhaps,  you  may  think 
yourself  in  thriving  circumstances,  and  that  you  can  bear  a 
little  extravagance  without  injury;  but, 

*'  For  age  and  want  save  while  you  may, 
No  morning  suns  last  the  whole  day." 

Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain,  but  ever  while  you 
live,  expense  is  constant  and  certain;  and  "  it  is  easier  to 
build  two  chimneys,  than  to  keep  one  in  fuel,"  as  poor  Rich- 
ard says:  so  "  rather  go  to  bed  supperless,  than  rise  in  debt." 

"Get  what  you  can,  and  what  you  get  hold, 
'Tis  the  stone  that  will  turn  your  lead  into  gold.' 

And  when  you  have  got  the  philosopher's  stone,  sure  you 
will  no  longer  complain  of  bad  times,  or  the  difficulty  of 
paying  taxes. 

IV.  This  doctrine  of  my  friend's  is  reason  and  wisdom;  but 
after  all,  do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  industry 
and  frugality,  and  prudence,  though  excellent  things;  for 
they  may  all  be  blasted  without  the  blessing  of  heaven;  and 
therefore  ask  that  blessing  humbly,  and  be  not  uncharitable 
to  those  that  at  present  seem  to  want  it,  but  comfort  and  help 
them.  Remember  Job  suffered,  and  was  afterwards  pros 
perous. 

And  now  to  conclude,  "  experience  keeps  a  dear  school, 
but  fools  will  learn  in  no  other,"  as  poor  Richard  says,  and 
scarce  in  that;  for  it  is  true,  "  we  may  give  advice,  but  we 


Page  147 


DR.  FR 


FRANKLIN.  m* 


Os  nlunip  young  rabbit,  as  he  thought,  squatted  among  the 
«,  •  .<ls  1  Down  at  once  upon  him,  he  pounced  like  thunder, 
and  bearing  him  aloft  in  his  talons,  thus  chuckled  to  himself 
with  joy^Zounds,  what  a  lucky  dog  I  ami  such  a  nice  rah- 
bit  here,  this  morning,  for  my  breakfast!  * 
m_"  His  ioy  was  but  momentary;  for  the  supposed  rabbit 
Hippened  to  be  a  stout  cat,  who,  spitting  and  squa  Wng  with 
rao-e,  instantly  stuck  his  teeth  and  nails,  like  any  tury,  into 
the  eagle's  thighs,  making  the  blood  and  feathers  lly  at  a 

dreadful  rate.  .  . 

C^old!  holdI  for  mercy's  sake,  hMJfcvizd  the  eagle,, 
his  wings  shivering  in  the  air  with  very  tot -incut. 

^  Viflian!'  retorted  the  cat,  with  a  tiger-like  growl,  <dare 
you  talk  of  mercy  after  treating  me  thus,  who  never  injured 

ywf£  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Cat)  is  that^lu?> rejoined  the  ea- 
gle, mighty  complaisant ;^'pon  honour,  I  did  not  intend,  sir. 
!  thought  it  was  only  a  rabbit  I  had  got  hold  of-and  you 
know  we  are  all  fond  of  rabbits.  Do  you  suppose,  my  dear 
sir,  that  if  I  had  but  dreamt  it  was  you,  I  would  ever  nave 
touched  the  hair  of  your  head?  No,  indeed:  I  am  not  such 
a  fool  as  all  that  comes  to.  And  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Cat, 
come  let's  be  good  friends  again,  and  I'll  let  you  go  with  all 

my  heart.  . . .  , 

*<*Yes,  you'll  let  me  go,  scoundrel,  will  you— here  from 
the  clouds— to  break  every  bone  in  my  skini-^No,  villain, 
carry  me  back,  and  put  me  down  exactly  where  you  found 
me,  or  I'll  tear  the  throat  out  of  you  in  a  momenta 

"  Without  a  word  of  reply,  the  eagle  stooped  at  once 
from  his  giddy  height,  and  sailing  humbly  down,  with  great 
complaisance  restored  the  cat  to  his  simple  farm-yard,  there 
to  sleep,  or  hunt  his  rats  and  mice  at  pleasure." 

A  solemn  silence  ensued.  At  length,  with  a  deep  pro- 
phetic sigh,  lord  Spencer  thus  replied:  46  Ah  I  Dr.  franklin 
I  see  the  drift  of  your  fable;  and  my  fears  have  already  made 
the  application.  God  grant,  that  Britain  may  not  prove  the 
eagle,  and  America  the  cat."  This  fable  paraphrased  m  the 
Whig  papers  of  that  day,  concludes  in  this  way: 

^    Thus  Britain  thought  in  seventy-six, 
Her  l aions  in  a  hare  to  fix  ; 
But  in  the  scuffle  it  was  found, 
The  bird  received  a  dangerous  wound, 
Which,  though  pretending  oft  to  hide, 
Still  rankles  in  his  Royal  side." 


204  THE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Doctor  Franklin  now  be«;an  to  find  his  situation  in  Lon 
don  extremely  unpleasant.  For  twelve  years,  like  heaven's 
own  minister  of  peace,  he  had  pressed  the  olive-branch  on 
the  British  ministry;  and  yet  after  all,  their  war- hawks 
could  hardly  tolerate  the  sight  of  him.  They  even  went  so 
far  as  to  call  him  44  the  hoary  headed  villain,  who  first  stirred 
up  the  Americans  to  rebellion"  As  soon  as  he  could  obtain 
his  passports  he  left  England. 

His  old  friend,  Strahan,  advised  him  to  continue  in  that 
country,  for  that  America  would  soon  be  filled  with  tumult 
and  bloodshed.  He  replied,  44  No,  sir,  where  liberty  is,  there 
is  my  country y 

Unbounded  was  the  joy  of  the  Americans  on  the  return 
of  so  great  a  patriot  and  statesman.  The  day  following  he 
was  elected  by  the  legislature  of  Pennsylvania,  a  member 
of  Congress.  The  following  letters,  in  extract,  to  his  con- 
stant friend,  and  the  friend  of  science/and  liberty,  the  cele- 
brated doctor  Priestley,  will  show  IWw  full  his  hands  were 
I  I  <  £  / 

4  Philadelphia,  July  7,  1775. 

44  Dear  Friend, 

44  Britain  has  begun  to  burn  our  sea  port  towns;  secure,  I 
suppose,  that  we  shall  never  be  able  to  return  the  outrage  in 
kind.  She  may  doubtless  destroy  them  all.  But  is  this  the 
way  to  recover  our  friendship  and  trader  She  must  certainly 
be  distracted;  for  no  tradesman  out  of  Bedlam  ever  thought 
of  increasing  the  number  of  his  customers  by  knocking  them 
on  the  head;  or  of  enabling  them  to  pay  their  debts,  by  burn- 
ing their  houses. 

46  My  time  was  never  more  fully  employed.  I  breakfast 
before  six.  At  six  I  hasten  to  the  committee  of  safety,  for 
putting  the  province  in  a  state  of  defence.  At  nine  I  go  to 
Congress,  which  sits  till  after  four.  It  will  scarcely  be  credited 
in  Britain,  that  men  can  be  as  diligent  with  us,  from  zeal  for 
die  public  good,  as  with  you,  for  thousands  per  annum.  Such 
s  the  difference  between  uncorrupted  new  states,  and  cor- 
rupted old  ones. 

44  Great  frugality  and  great  industry  are  now  become 
fashionable  here:  gentlemen,  who  used  to  entertain  with  two 
or  three  courses,  oride  themselves  now  in  treating  with  sim 


7 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  V^^Z 
governs  the  world,  to  whom  all  should  look  for  a  blessing 
on  their  honest  endeavours,  doth  not,  in  his  wise  provi 
dence,  otherwise  determine. 

AN  OLQ  TRADESMAN^ 

IDLE  CURIOSITY  CURED. 

On  his  first  trip,  by  lancl,  to  see  his  father  in  Boston,  he 
was  worried  almost  to  death  by  the  abominable  inquisitive- 
ness  of  the  New  England  tavern-keepers. 

Neither  man  nor  beast  could  travel  among  them  m  com  , 
fort.    No  matter  how  wet  or  weary,  how  hungry  or  thirsty,  ' 
the  poor  traveller  might  be,  he  was  not  to  expect  an  atom 
of  refreshment  from  these  silly  publicans  until  their  most  ( 
pestiferous  curiosity  was  first  gratified.    And  then  Job  him- 
self could  not  stand  such  questions  as  they  would  goad  him 
/with;  such  as,  where  he  came  from — and  where  he  might  be 
/  a-going — and  what  religion  he  might  be  of— and  if  he  was 
\   a  married  man — and  so  on.    After  having  been  prodigiously 
teazed  in  this  way  for  several  days,  until  at  last  the  bare 
sight  of  a  public  house  almost  threw  him  into  an  ague,  he 
determined  to  try  the  following  remedy  at  the  very  next  tav-  $ 
ern.    Soon  as  he  alighted  from  his  horse  he  desired  the  tavern 
.    keeper  to  collect  his  whole  family,  wife,  children,  and  ser- 
vants, every  soul  of  them;  for  that  he  had  something  vastly 
important  to  communicate.   All  being  assembled  and  won- 
dering what  he  had  to  say,  he  thus  addressed  them.  "My 
'  name  is  Benjamin  Franklin.  I  am  a  printer  by  trade.  1  live, 
when  at  home,  in  Philadelphia.    In  Boston  I  have  a  father,  a 
good  old  man  who  taught  me,  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  to  read 
my  book  and  say  my  prayers.    I  have,  ever  since,  thought 
it  my  duty  to  visit'  and  pay  my  respects  to  such  a  father; 
and  I  am  on  that  errand  to  Boston  now.    This  is  all  that 
[  can  at  present  recollect  of  myself  that  I  think  worth  tell- 
ing you.    But  if  you  can  think  of  any  thing  else  that  you 
wish  to  know  about  me,  I  beg  you  to  out  with  it  at  once, 
that  I  may  answer,  and  so  give  you  opportunity  to  get  me 
something  to  eat;  for  I  long  to  be  on  my  journey  that  I  may 
return  as  soon  as  possible  to  my  family  and  business,  where 
I  most  of  all  delight  to  be."  /* 

Forty  thousand  sermons  against  Idle  Curiosiiy  could 
nardly  have  driven  it  so  effectually  out  of  New  England  as 
lid  this  little  squib  of  ridicule. 


160  THE  LIFE  OF 

The  following  jeu  d'esprit  is  peculiarly  in  character  with 
Dr.  Franklin.  It  proves  that  his  wit  and  his  benevolence 
were  equal  to  every  emergence,  and  that  if  he  carried  the 
Old  Testament  language  in  his  head,  he  carried  the  New 
Testament  spirit  in  his  heart. 

WIT  AND  PERSECUTION. 

The  conversation  turning,  one  day,  on  persecution,  a  doc 
tor  of  divinity,  distinguished  for  his  wit,  but,  unfortunately, 
a  little  too  much  infected  with  that  acrimony  which  is 
caught  by  reading  books  of  religious  controversy,  took  the 
part  of  persecution  and  contended  that  it  was  sometimes 
right  to  employ  it.  Franklin  said,  he  could  not  think  of 
any  case  wherein  persecution  was  admissible  among  rational 
creatures.  It  might  be  very  excusable  in  error  to  persecute, 
whose  nature  it  was  to  see  things  wrong,  and  to  get  angry; 
but  that  for  such  a  "  divinity  as  truth,"  to  persecute,  was,  in 
his  opinion,  a  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  never  to  be  forgiven. 
After  using,  in  his  facetious  manner,  a  variety  of  arguments 
honourable  to  wit  and  philanthropy,  and  the  clergyman 
still  remaining  unconvinced,  Franklin  called  out  to  him 
with  an  air  of  great  surprise,  "  Why,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  asto- 
nished that  you  plead  thus  for  persecution  when  it  is  so  dia- 
metrically opposite  to  your  Bible." 

The  clergyman  replied,  that  he  did  not  know  what  doctor 
Franklin  meant.  He  thought,  he  said,  he  knew  something 
of  his  Bible,  but  he  did  not  recollect  any  chapter  in  point. 

"  No,  sir!"  answered  Franklin,  still  with  the  look  and  voice 
of  surprise,  "not  that  memorable  chapter  concerning  Abra- 
ham and  the  poor  man  !  Pray,  sir,  favour  us  with  your 
Bible  a  minute  or  two." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  clergyman,  "  I  should 
like  to  see  that  memorable  chapter." 

The  company  manifested  a  solicitude  for  the  issue  of  the 
pending  controversy — the  family  Bible  was  brought  and  laid 
on  the  table  by  the  side  of  doctor  Franklin.  "  Well,  reve- 
rend sir,"  said  he,  looking  at  the  preacher,  as  he  took  up 
the  Bible,  "  shall  I  read  this  chapter?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  divine,  settling  himself  in  his 
chair  to  listen. — The  eyes  of  all  were  fixed  on  F  rankling 
when,  opening  the  Bible  and  turning  back  the  leaves  as  to 
find  the  place,  he  thus  audibly  began: — 

The  twenty-seventh  chapter  of  the  first  book  of  Moses, 
commonly  called  the  book  of  Genesis. 


Dll.  FRANKLIN. 


1GI 


I.  And  it  came  to  pass,  after  these  things,  that  Abra- 
nam  sat  in  the  door  of  his  tent,  about  the  going  down  of  tiie 
sun. 

2  And  behold  a  man,  bowed  with  age,  coming  from  the 
way  of  the  wilderness,  leaning  on  a  staff'. 

3.  And  Abraham  arose,  and  met  him,  and  said  unto  him, 
turn  in,  I  pray  thee,  and  wash  thy  feet,  and  tarry  all  night, 
and  thou  strait  arise  early  in  the  morning  and  go  on  thy  way. 

4.  But  the  man  said,  nay,  for  I  will  abide  under  this 
tree. 

5.  And  Abraham  pressed  him  greatly;  so  he  turned,  and 
they  went  into  the  tent;  and  Abraham  baked  unleavened 
bread,  and  they  did  eat. 

6.  And  when  Abraham  saw  that  the  man  blessed  not 
God,  he  said  unto  him,  wherefore  dost  thou  not  worship  the 
most  high  God,  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth. 

7.  And  the  man  answered  and  said,  I  do  not  worship  thy 
God,  neither  do  I  call  upon  his  name;  for  I  have  made  to 
myself  a  God,  which  abideth  always  in  mine  house,  and  pro- 
videth  me  all  things. 

8.  And  Abraham's  zeal  was  kindled  against  the  man, 
and  he  arose  and  fell  upon  him,  and  drove  him  forth  with 
blows  into  the  wilderness. 

9.  And  at  midnight  God  called  unto  Abraham,  saying, 
where  is  the  stranger? 

10.  And  Abraham  answered,  and  said,  Lord,  he  would 
not  worship  thee,  neither  would  he  call  upon  thy  name, 
therefore  have  I  driven  him  out  from  before  my  face  into  the 
wilderness. 

II.  And  God  said,  have  f  borne  with  him  these  hundred 
and  ninety  and  eight  years,  and  nourished  him  and  clothed 
him,  notwithstanding  his  rebellion  against  me;  and  couldest 
not  thou,  that  art  thyself  a  sinner,  bear  with  him  one  night? 

12.  And  Abraham  said,  jlet  not  the  anger  of  my  Lord 
wax  hot  against  his  servant;  |lo,  I  have  sinned:  forgive  me, 
I  pray  thee. 

13.  And  he  arose,  and  went  forth  into  the  wilderness, 
and  sought  diligently  for  the  man  and  found  him: 

14.  And  returned  with  him  to  his  tent;  and  when  he  had 
entreated  him  kindly,  he  sent  him  away  in  the  morning  with 

sifts-  I 

15.  And  God  spake  again;  unto  Abraham,  saying,  for  this 
thy  sin,  shall  thy  seed  be  afflicted  four  hundred  years  in  a 
strange  land: 

14* 


cuij  and  thei 

shall  come  forth  with  power,  and  with  gladness  of  heart, 


IfiV  THE  LIFE  OF 

16.  feut  for  thy  repentance,  will  I  deliver  them 
iall  come  mrth  with  poM 
and  with  much  stji^tance. 

That  witty  but  splenetic  old  bachelor,  Dean  Swift,  used 
/to  say,  that  44  there  was  no  dispute  which  a  man  of  a  tolera- 
bly good  head  and  heart  might  not  easily  avoid  falling  into, 
or  honourably  get  out  of;  and,  therefore,  as  none  but  fools 
and  rascals  fought  duels,  the  sooner  such  beasts  cut  each 
other's  throats,  the  better  for  the  community."  -This,  no 
drrubt,  is  very  true,  but  still  it  is  too  much  like  striking  with 
a  war  club,  or  tomahawk*  to  be  allowed  among  christfans. 
The  following  impromptu  on  duelling?  by  Dr.  Franklin, 
claims  a  far  higher  admiration.  It  is  an  arrow  pointed  with 
the  diamond  of  wit,  dipt  in  the  oil  of  kindness,  that  wounds 
but  to  heal. 

THE  FOLLY  OF  DUELLING. 

This  most  pusillanimous  practice  was  one  day  made  the 
theme  of  conversation  in  a  large  party  in  London,  where 
Doctor  Franklin  dined.  The  philosophers  and  divines  of 
the  company  joined  unanimously  to  execrate  it;  and  so  many 
sensible  and  severe  things  were  said  against  it,  that  everybody 
seemed  willing  to  give  it  up  to  its  father,  the  devil,  except  a 
young  officer,  whose  ugly  distortions  showed  plainly  enough 
that  he  did  not  at  all  relish  their  strictures.  Soon  as  they 
were  done,  he  called  aloud, u  well,  gentlemen,  you  may  preach 
as  much  as  you  please  against  duelling,  butPll  never  pocket 
an  insult  for  all  that.  No,  if  any  man  affront  me,  I'll  call 
him  to  an  account,  if  1  lose  my  life  for  it." 

The  philosophers  and  divines  looked  at  each  other  in  si- 
lence, like  fools  who  had  shot  their  last  bolt. 

Here  Franklin  took  up  the  cudgels;  and  looking  at  the 
young  officer  with  a  smile,  said,  44  This,  sir,  puts  me  in  mind 
of  an  affair  that  lately  happened  in  a  Philadelphia  coffee- 
house." 

The  young  fellow,  rather  pertly,  said  he  should  like  to 
hear  what  had  lately  happened  in  a  Philadelphia  coftee-nouse. 

44  Why,  sir,"  continued  the  doctor,  "two  gentlemen  were 
sitting  together  in  the  coffee-house,  when  one  said  to  the 
other,  for  heaven's  sake,  sir,  sit  further  off,  and  don't  poison 
me;  vou  smell  as  bad  as  a  pole-cat.' V.. 

Sir,"  retorted  the  other,  44  what  do  you  mean?  Draw, 
and  defend  vourself.'t 


^  im.  FKANKCTT  —     16*  ..... 

"Ml,  sir,'^  quoth  the  first,  V  I'll  meet  yon  in  a  moment,  if 
you  insist  on  it;  but  let's  see  first  how  that's  to  mend  the 
mattefi  [f  you  kill  me,  I  shall  smell  as  bad  as  a  pole-eat  too 
And  if  I  kill  you,  you  will  only  smell  ten  times  worseP- 

In  s!toi4,-  that  divine  motto,  G&wCk 

u  Homo  sum,  nil  humani  a  me  alienum  puto." 
In  English  thus, 

A  man  I  am,  in  man  I  take  a  par/, 
Arid  good  of  man  is  ever  next  my  heart. 

has  seldom  been  more  justly  applied  than  to  Dr.  Franklin. 
He  seems  to  have  been  all  eye,  all  ear,  all  touch,  to  every 
thing  that  affected  human  happiness.  Did  he,  even  at  the 
early  age  of  twenty-five,  form  an  acquaintance  with  young 
persons  fond  of  reading,  but  unable  to  purchase  books?  In- 
stantly he  suggested  the  plan  for  obviating  that  great,  great 
misfortune,  by  founding  a  Public  Library;  whereby,  at  a 
small  expense  in  hand,  and  a  much  smaller  paid  annually,  a 
subscriber  might  have  his  choice  of  books,  on  all  subjects, 
whether  of  pleasure  or  profit.  This  Library,  which  was  com- 
menced in  1731,  by  Franklin  and  only  thirty -seven  mem- 
bers, and  no  more  than  one  hundred  volumes,  consisting  of 
such  little  parcels  of  books  as  each  subscriber  possessed,  is 
now,  1820,  enlarged  to  six  hundred  members,  and  upwards 
of  twenty  thousand  volumes. 

The  great  advantages  arising  from  this  library  became  so 
sensibly  felt  that  others  were  soon  founded;  and  they  have 
now  kindled  up  their  salutary  lights  not  only  in  several  parts 
of  the  city,  but  in  almost  every  county  in  the  state.  From 
the  choicest  books  on  Religion,  Morals,  History,  Voyages. 
Travels,  &c.  thus  brought  home  to  their  fire-sides  and  con 
stantly  lying  on  their  mantlepieces,  the  citizens  derive  ad- 
vantages incalculable.  Their  idle  hours,  formerly  so  dan- 
gerous, were  now  innocently  filled  up;  solitude  was  cheered 
with  a  succession  of  new  ideas;  company  enlivened  by  witty 
conversation,  and  labour  itself  sweetened  by  the  thought  of 
a  beloved  book  at  night. 

With  their  taste  thus  exalted  to  better  pleasures,  the  youth 
of  all  classes  were  saved  from  the  brutalizing  sensualities  tha> 
destroy  character  and  health.  Having  their  understandings 
enlightened,  they  were  led  to  greater  virtues  and  usefulness. 
And  being  thus  taught  to  enjoy  life,  they  felt  the  strongest 
inducements  to  preserve  it.  Hence  the  astonishing  prospe- 
rity of  Philadelphia  in  industry  and  morals,  population  and 
wealth.  \ 


rG4 


THE  LIFE  OF 


The  mother  Library  now  displays  its  twenty  thousand 
volumes,  in  an  elegant  building,  on  the  corner  of  Fifth  and 
Chestnut.  In  a  niche  on  the  wall  above  the  door  is  a  fine 
marble  likeness  of  Dr.  Franklin  at  full  length,  presented 
by  William  Bingham,  Esq. 

Again: — Did  Franklin  catch  a  glimpse  of  those  poor  pusil 
lanimous  creatures,  who  rather  than  live  nobly  independent 
in  the  pure  aired  country,  by  cultivating  their  own  sweet 
vegetables,  and  raising  fat  poultry,  will  run  into  the  sickly 
towns  to  sell  whiskey  and  apples  in  the  summer,  and  take 
their  chance  to  starve  and  freeze  in  the  winter?  Did  he,  I 
say,  catch  a  glimpse  of  these  poor  spiritless  creatures  with 
their  children,  shivering  over  small  fires  kindled  by  a  little 
"  charity  wood?"  Instantly  his  bowels  of  compassion  were 
stirred  within  him.  Although  he  was  no  friend  to  such  lazy 
self-made  paupers,  nor  to  the  miserable  policy  that  winks  at 
them,  yet  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  remain  unconcerned 
at  their  sufferings.  In  a  letter  to  one  of  his  friends,  he  says, 
"  since  we  can  get  no  more  wood  for  the  poor,  we  must  try 
from  that  wood  to  get  more  warmth  for  them."  He  set  him- 
self to  examine  the  principles  of  the  stoves  generally  in  use. 
His  genius,  as  usual,  discovered  such  room  for  amendment, 
that  he  soon  came  out  with  a  stove,  which  to  this  day,  >in 
honour  of  him,  is  called  46 the  franklin  stove,"  and 
wherein  one  cord  of  charity  oak  would  afford  as  much  heat 
and  comfort  to  those  poor  people,  as  two  cords  in  the  old 
way! 

Did  he  hear  the  shrill  midnight  cry  of  fire!  and  mark  the 
deep  distress  of  the  citizens,  as  with  tearful  eyes  they  be- 
held the  flames  swallowing  up  their  pleasant  habitations  and 
furniture  ?  Instantly  he  set  himself  to  call  up  ail  the  energies 
of  the  public  against  this  dire  calamity,  and  to  point  them 
to  the  only  adequate  remedy,  Mutual  Insurance  Com- 
panies. 

"Man,"  said  he,  in  his  calls  to  the  citizens  through  his 
popular  newspaper,  "  Man  separate  from  man,  is  but  a  fee- 
ble creature;  and  like  the  filament  of  flax  before  the  thread 
is  formed,  he  is  without  strength,  because  without  connexion. 
But  ifNioN  will  make  us  strong,  and  enable  us  to  do  all  things 
essential  to  our  safety.  The  houses  burnt  every  year  are, 
compared  with  all  the  houses  in  the  city,  but  feiv.  find  were, 
all  the  housekeepers  in  the  city,  joined  for  mutual  security, 
to  pay  a  certain  sum  ;  and  were  that  sum  put  to  interest,  it 
would  not  only  cover  all  the  losses  by  fire,  but  would  actually 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 
of  his  own  life  into  pleasure  and  profit  to  others.  ttexrrrte- - U  : 

STOOP,  AND  GO  SAFE. 
To  the  late  Dr.  Mather,  of  Boston. 


nt, 

When  I  was  a  boy,  I  met  with  a  book,  entitled,  "  Es 
says  to  do  good,"  which,  I  think,  was  written  by  your  fa- 
ther. It  had  been  so  little  regarded  by  a  former  possessor, 
that  several  leaves,  of  it  were  torn  out  :  but  the  remainder 
gave  me  such  a  turn  for  thinking,  as  to  have  an  influence 
on  my  conduct  through  life;  for  I  have  always  set  a  greater 
value  on  the  character  of  a  doer  of  good  than  any  other  kind 
of  reputation;  and  if  I  have  been,  as  you  seem  to  think, 
a  useful  citizen,  the  public  owes  the  advantage  of  it  to  that 
book. 

The  last  time  I  saw  your  father  was  in  the  beginning  of 
1724,  when  I  visited  him  after  my  first  trip  to  Pennsylva- 
nia. He  received  me  in  his  library;  and  on  my  taking 
leave,  showed  me  a  shorter  way  out  of  the  house,  through  a 
narrow  passage,  which  was  crossed  by  a  beam  over  head. 
We  were  still  talking,  as  I  withdrew;  he  accompanying  me 
behind,  and  I  turning  partly  towards  him,  when  he  said 
hastily,  "stoop!  stoop!"  I  did  not  understand  him,  till  I 
felt  my  head  hit  against  the  beam.  He  was  a  man,  who 
never  missed  any  occasion  of  giving  instruction;  and  upon 
this  he  said  to  me,  "you  are  young,  and  have  the  world  be- 
fore you.  Stoop,  as  you  go  through,  and  you  will  miss 
many  hard  thumps."  This  advice,  thus  beat  into  my  head, 
has  frequently  been  of  use  to  me;  and  I  often  think  of  it, 
when  I  see  pride  mortified,  and  misfortune  brought  upon 
people,  by  carrying  their  heads  too  high. 

I  long  much  to  see  again  my  native  place;  and  did  hope 
to  have  been  there  in  1783;  but  could  not  obtain  my  dis- 
mission from  employment  here.  And  novfc  I  fear  I  shall 
never  have  that  happiness.  My  best  wishes,  however,  attend 
my  dear  country.  It  is  now  blessed  with  an  excellent  con- 
stitution.   May  it  last  for  ever  ! 

This  powei^l  monarchy  continues  its  friendship  for  the 
United  States.  \  It  is  a  friendship  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  our  security;  a^nd  should  be  carefully  cultivated.  Bri- 
tain has  not  yet  digested  the  loss  of  its  dominion  over  us^N 
and  has  still,  at  times*,  some  flattering  hopes  of  recovering  it. 
Accidents  may  increase  those  hopes,  and  encourage  dan- 


148 


THE  LIFE  OP 


gerous  attempts.  A  breach  between  us  and  France  would 
infallibly  bring  the  English  again  upon  our  backs:  and  yet. 
we  have  some  wild  beasts  among  our  countrymen,  who  are 
endeavouring  to  weaken  that  connexion. 

Let  us  preserve  our  reputation,  by  performing  our  en- 
gagements; our  credit,  by  fulfilling  our  contracts;  and  our 
friends,  by  gratitude  land  kindness:  for  we  know  not  how 
soon  we  may  again  htave  occasion  for  all  of  them. — With 
great  and  sincere  esteem,  I  have  the  honour  to  be — Re- 
verend sir, 

Your  most  obedient  and  most  humble  servant, 

B.  FRANKLIN. 

Passy,  May  12,  1784; 


The  witty  little  essay  that  follows,  will  show  how  very 
closely  Dr.  Franklin  observed  every  thing  around  him,  and 
what  gross  errors  in  education  yet  remain  to  be  corrected. 

THE  HUMOUROUS  PETITION. 

I  address  myself  to  all  the  friends  of  youth,  and  conjure 
them  to  direct  their  compassionate  regard  to  my  unhappy 
fate,  in  order  to  remove  the  prejudices  of  which  I  am  the 
victim.  There  are  twin  sisters  of  us,  and  the  two  eyes  of 
man  do  not  more  resemble,  nor  are  capable  of  being  upon 
better  terms  with  each  other,  than  my  sister  and  myself, 
were  it  not  for  the  partiality  of  our  parents,  who  make  the 
most  injurious  distinctions  between  us.  From  my  infancy 
I  have  been  led  to  consider*  my  sister  as  being  of  a  more 
elevated  rank.  I  was  suffered  to  grow  up  without  the  least 
instruction,  while  nothing  was  spared  in  her  education.  She 
had  masters  to  teach  her  writing,  drawing,  music,  and  other 
accomplishments,  but  if,  by  chance,  I  touched  a  pencil,  a 
pen,  or  a  needle,  I  was  bitterly  rebuked;  and  more  than 
once,  I  have  been  beaten  for  being  awkward,  and  wanting  a 
graceful  manner.  It  is  true,  my  sister  associated  me  with 
her  upon  some  occasions;  but  she  always  made  a  point  of 
taking  the  lead,  calling  upon  me  only  from  necessity,  or  to 
figure  by  her  side. 

But  conceive  not,  sirs,  that  my  complaints  are  instigated 
merely  by  vanity — no,  my  uneasiness  is  occasioned  by  an 
object  much  more  serious.  It  is  the  practice  in  our  family,  that 
the  whole  business  of  providing  for  its  subsistence  falls  upon 
my  sister  and  myself.    If  any  indisposition  should  attack 


rt 


mi.  franklin 


living;  all  the  pleasures  of  doing  good  to  others    ill  th- 

ble  improvement  of  the  mind,  or  of  his  fortunf      „  ,  ,  ' 

in  see  one  fond  of  line  clothes,  fine  furniture  fine,„„i , 
ages,  all  abo»e  hb fortune  for  which  he  cou Set  d£hB 

«Ae  /to*  jj«k/  so  mMC/8  y0r  Acr  whistle."  J 

In  short,  I  conceived,  that  area,  nt.rt  nf  *k„     •  • 
mankind  were  brought'  upon  CCtt  tl  ™Sdl 

THE  HANDSOME  AND  UGLY  LEG. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  people  in  the  world,  who  with 
equal  advantages  of  life,  become,  the  one  hapjy and  t 
other  miserable.   This  arises,  very  much,  from  £  HH&  ! 
views  ,n  which  they  consider  thfcs,  and  t  Hfftt  of  t  o" 
different  views  upon  their  own  minds 

In  every  situation  men  can  be  placed,  they  may  find  con 
veniences  and  inconveniences;  ,n  every  comnnnv  „ 
and  convfsation  more  or  less  pllasingTit  eS file^ 

Tlt^l  °f  better,°r  W°rSe  taSte'  SkesbelL  aid  wort 
dressed;  In  every  climate,  good  and  bad  weather-  and  on 

tionSfi    T-  Clr«ances,  the  tw°  c^sses  above  men. 
honed,  fix  their  attention— those  who  are  disnosed  tnt 
happy,  on  the  coniiemW  of  things,  the  plea'Z  l£  If 
wireTheT'  th%^.^dile;,  tL^3Sfof  tS 
wine,  t.he>e  &c.  and  enjoy  all  with  c/.eer/M/J 


\  Gr 

146  THE  LIFE  OF 

Those  who  are  to  be  unhappy,  think  and  speak  only  of  th& 
contraries.  Hence  they  are  continually  discontented  them- 
selves, and,  by  their  remarks,  sour  the  pleasures  of  society, 
and  make  themselves  every  where  disagreeable. 

Nobody  loves  this  sort  of  people;  no  one  shows  them  more 
than  the  commonest  civility,  and  scarcely  that;  and  this  fre- 
quently puts  them  out  of  humour,  and  draws  them  into  dis- 
putes. If  they  aim  at  obtaining  any  advantage  in  rank  or 
fortune,  nobody  wishes  them  success,  or,  will  stir  a  step  to 
favour  their  pretensions.  If  they  incur  public  censure  or 
disgrace,  no  one  will  defend  or  excuse,  and  many  join  to 
aggravate  their  misconduct,  and  render  them  completely 
odious.  If  these  poor  gentlemen  will  not  change  this  bad 
habit,  condescend  to  be  pleased  with  what  is  pleasing,  with- 
out fretting  themselves  and  others  about  the  contraries,  it  is 
good  to  avoid  an  acquaintance  with  them,  which  is  always 
disagreeable,  and  sometimes  very  inconvenient,  especially 
when  one  finds  one's  self  entangled  in  their  quarrels. 

An  old  philosophical  friend  of  mine  was  grown,  from 
experience,  very  cautious  in  this  particular,  and  carefully 
avoided  any  intimacy  with  such  people.  He  had,  like  other 
philosophers,  a  thermometer,  to  show  him  the  heat  of  the 
weather,  and  a  barometer,  to  mark  when  it  was  likely  to 
prove  good  or  bad;  but  there  being  no  instrument  invented  to 
discover,  at  first  sight,  this  unpleasing  disposition  in  a  per- 
son, he,  for  that  purpose,  made  use  of  his  legs,  one  of  which 
was  remarkably  handsome;  the  other,  by  some  accident, 
crooked  and  deformed.  If  a  stranger,  at  the  first  interview, 
kept  his  eyes  on  his  ugly  leg  more  than  the  handsome  one, 
he  doubted  him;  if  he  spoke  of  it,  and  took  no  notice  of  the 
handsome  leg,  that  was  sufficient  to  determine  my  philoso- 
pher to  have  no  further  acquaintance  with  him.  Every  body 
has  not  this  two-legged  instrument;  but  every  one,  with  a 
little  attention,  may  observe  signs  of  that  carping,  fault- 
finding disposition,  and  take  the  same  resolution  of  avoid- 
ing the  acquaintance  of  those  infected  with  it.  I  therefore 
advise  those  critical,  querulous,  discontented,  unhappy  peo- 
ple, that  if  they  wish  to  be  respected  and  beloved  by  others, 
and  happy  in  themselves,  they  should  leave  off  looking  at 
the  ugly  leg.        &^%r%>  ^  ft) 

"  A  good  wit  will  turn  every  thing  to  advantage,"  says 
Shakespeare;  and  the  following^will  show  what  a  singular 
passion  Dr.  Franklin  had  to  turn  every  little  cross  incident 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  / 145 

cannot  give  conduct;"  however,  remember  this,  "  they  that 
will  not  be  counselled  cannot  be  helped;  and  farther,  that 
"  if  you  will  not  hear  reason,  she  will  surely  wrap  your 
knuckles,"  as  poor  Richard  says. 

Thus  the  old  gentleman  ended  his  harangue.  The  people 
heard  it  and  approved  the  doctrine,  and  immediately  prac- 
tised the  contrary,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  common  sermon; 
for  the  auction  opened,  and  they  began  to  buy  extrava- 
gantly. I  found  the  good  man  had  thoroughly  studied  my 
Almanacs,  and  digested  all  I  had  dropt  on  those  topics  du 
ring  the  course  of  twenty-five  years.  The  frequent  mention 
he  made  of  me  must  have  tired  any  one  else;  but  my  vanity 
was  wonderfully  delighted  with  it,  though  I  was  conscious, 
that  not  a  tenth  part  of  the  wisdom  was  my  own,  which  he 
ascribed  to  me;  but  rather  the  gleanings  that  I  had  made  of 
the  sense  of  all  ages  and  nations.  However  T  resolved  to  be 
the  better  for  the  echo  of  it;  and  though  I  had  at  first  deter- 
mined to  buy  stuff  for  a  new  coat,  I  went  away,  resolved  to 
wear  my  old  one  a  little  longer.  Header,  if  thou  wilt  do  the 
same,  thy  profit  ,  will  be  as  great  as  mine.  ~i~ttm,  as  ever 
thine  to  serve  tkee. 

Richard  Saunders. 

—  ♦»►©      ©«««  — 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  WHEN  poverty  comes  in  at  the  door"  said  a  shrewd 
observer,  "love  flies  out  at  the  window."  When  foolish  fa- 
milies, "  wasting  their  substance  in  riotous  living,"  have 
fairly  run  their  estates  through  the  girt,  and  brought  a  host 
of  hungry  sheriffs  and  constables  to  the  door,  seizing  on  all 
their  trumpery  of  fine  carpets  and  curtains,  and  side-boards, 
and  looking-glasses  for  auction,  oh  what  sudden  palpitations 
and  blank  looks  ensue!  what  bitter  upbraidings  between 
husbands  and  wives,  parents  apd  children!  what  lyings,  and 
perjuries,  and  secret  transfers  of  property  to  cheat  credi- 
tors!  with  universal  wreck  of  character,  and  conscience, 
ind  every  thing  else  that  can  give  dignity  or  pleasure  to  life! 

But  while  Franklin,  by  his  famous  Almanack  u poor  Rich- 
ard," was  generously  striving  to  prevent  all  these  curses  of 
doth  and  extravagance,  his  wide  spread  newspapers  were 
scattering  thousands  of  the  finest  lectures  on  that  honest  in- 
dustry and  prudence,  which  makes  nations  wealthy  and  glo- 


144 


THE  LfFE  OF 


nous.  And  his  lecturing,  like  one  born  to  be  the  moralist 
of  nations,  was  in  that  sVvle  of  brevity,  sprightliness,  and 
nerve,  that  young  and  old,  men,  women,  and  children 
were  never  tired,  of  reading.  And  to  give  more  value  to  these 
beautiful  little  essays,  they  were  always  written  under  the 
smarting  recollection  of  what  himself  had  suffered,  from  the 
follies  which  he  wished  to  guard  others  against  Witness 
first,  his  celebrated  little  story,  entitled 

THE  WHISTLE. 
A  TRUE  STORY. 

WRITTEN  TO  HIS  NEPHEW. 


When  I  was  a  child,  about  seven  years  old,  my  friends, 
on  a  holiday,  filled  my  pocket  with  coppers.  I  went  di 
rectly  to  a  shop,  where  they  sold  toys  for  children,  and 
being  charmed  with  the  sound  of  a  whistle,  that  1  met  by  the 
way,  in  the  hands  of  another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered  him  all 
my  money  for  it.  I  then  came  home,  and  went  whistling  all 
over  the  house,  much  pleased  with  my  whistle,  but  disturb- 
ing all  the  family.  My  brothers,  and  sisters,  and  cousins, 
understanding  the  bargain  I  had  made,  told  me  I  had  given 
four  times  as  much  for  it  as  it  was  worth.  This  put  me  in 
mind  what  good  things  I  might  have  bought  with  the  rest  of 
my  money;  and  they  laughed  at  me  so  much  for  my  folly, 
that  I  cried  with  vexation;  and  the  reflection  gave  me  more 
chagrin  than  the  whistle  gave  me  pleasure. 

This,  however,  was  afterwards  of  use  to  me.     The  im 
pression  continued  on  my  mind;  so  that,  often,  when  I  was 
tempted  to  buy  some  unnecessary  thing,  I  said  to  myself, 
*  don't  give  too  much  for  the  whistle;  and  so  I  saved  my  money. 

As  I  grew  up,  came  into  the  world,  and  observed  the  ac- 
tions of  men,  I  thought  I  met  with  many,  very  many  who 
gave  too  much  for  the  whistle. 

When  I  saw  any  one  too  ambitious  of  court  tavours,  sa- 
crificing his  time  in  attendance  on  levees,  his  repose,  his 
liberty,  his  virtue, ^and  perhaps  his  friends,  to  attain  it;  I 
have  said  to  myself,  \hisman  gives  too  much  for  his  whistle.1 

When  I  saw  another  fond  of  popularity,  constantly  em- 
ploying himself  in  political  bustles,  neglecting  his  own  af- 
fairs, and  ruining  them  by  that  neglect;  he  pays  indeed,  says 
I, 'Voo  much  for  his  whistle.1 

If  I  knew  a  miser,  who  gave  up  every  kind  of  comfortable 


Page  1K7. 


OR.  FRANKLIN. 


165 


bring  in  every  year,  clear  profit  on  his  money  to  each  sub 
scriber. 

Numbers  of  the  citizens  came  into  his  scheme;  and  a  large 
"  Mutual  Insurance  Company  "  was  immediately  formed, 
l^e  great  benefits,  foretold  to  flow  from  it,  being  soon 
-°aJized,  several  others  were  presently  set  on  foot:  and  now 
^in  1820,)  there  are,  in  Philadelphia,  no  fewer  than  forty 
engines,  with  eight  thousand  feet  of  hose,  (strong  leathern 
^ipes,)  to  convey  the  water  from  the  pumps  or  hydrants  to 
u.ie  engines;  whereby  in  less  than  two  minutes  they  are  in 
full  play,  pouring  their  watery  cataracts  on  the  flames. 
Hence,  while  for  lack  of  one  Franklin,  one  intelligent  and 
Public  spirited  philanthropist,  many  of  our  promising  young 
towns  are  suddenly  turned  to  ashes,  and  their  hapless  families, 
driven  out  naked  into  the  weather;  the  favoured  citizens  of 
Philadelphia,  guarded  by  forty  engines,  and  hundreds  of 
well  trained  young  firemen,  seldom  suffer  any  thing  beyond 
a  momentary  pang  from  this  most  alarming  element! 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

*«  To  him  who  hath  shall  be  given,  and  he  shall  have 
abundance" 

The  life  of  Dr.  Franklin  appears  to  have  been  one  con- 
tinued exemplification  of  this  most  animating  promise;  for 
scarcely  had  he  finished  that  noble  work  just  mentioned, 
before  he  was  called  to  another  which  acquired  him  a  still 
higher  reputation,  I  mean  his  wonderful  discoveries  in  elec- 
tricity, and  his  application  of  them  to  the  preservation  of 
h:unan  life  and  property.  The  manner  in  which  this  honour 
was  conferred  on  Dr.  Franklin,  is  enough  to  convince  all 
honest  minds  that  there  is  a  kind  Providence  over  the  ways 
of  men,  that  often  turns  their  "  seeming  evils  into  real 
good." 

Among  the  many  benefits  which  he  derived  from  the  dan- 
gerous scenes  of  London,  where  he  was  so  severely  tried, 
and  where  he  so  gloriously  triumphed,  was  his  acquaintance 
with  a  Mr.  Collinson,  of  that  city.  This  gentleman  had  a 
soul  of  uncommon  sensibility  to  the  charms  of  virtue.  His 
first  interview  with  Franklin,  was  in  Watts's  printing-oflice. 
The  sight  of  a  youthful  stranger,  not  yet  out  of  his  teens, 


166 


THE  LIFE  OF 


exhibiting  such  practical  lessons  of  virtue  to  the  deluded 
young  porter  drinkers  of  London,  filled  him  with  admira 
tion  of  his  character.  On  getting  acquainted  with  him,  he 
was  in  pleasing  doubt,  whether  most  to  esteem  his  heart  or 
admire  his  head. 

When  Franklin  left  England,  the  generous  Collinson  ac- 
companied him  on  board  the  ship,  and  at  parting,  the  two 
friends  exchanged  canes,  with  promises  of  everlasting  friend- 
ship and  constant  correspondence  by  letters.  Soon  as  all 
London  had  become  filled  with  the  aforesaid  rage  for  elec- 
tricity, and  electrical  experiments,  Collinson  wrote  the  whole 
history  of  them  to  Franklin,  with  a  compliment  to  his  genius, 
and  an  earnest  request  that  he  would  turn  it  to  that  subject, 
and  accompanied  all  with  the  present  of  a  small  electrical 
instrument.  Franklin's  curiosity  was  excited.  He  imme- 
diately set  to  work;  and  presently  made  discoveries  thatfa* 
exceeded  all  that  Collinson  had  promised  himself.  He  dis- 
covered the  power  of  metallic  points  to  draw  oft*  the  electrical 
matter — he  discovered  a  positive  and  a  negative  state  of 
electricity — he  explained  on  electrical  principles,  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  famous  Leyden  vial — he  explained  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  aurora  borealis,  and  of  thunder-gusts — he 
showed  the  striking  resemblance  in  many  respects  between 
electricity  and  lightning. 

1st.  In  giving  light. 

2d.   In  colour  of  the  light. 

3d.   In  crooked  direction. 

4th.  In  swiftness  of  motion. 

5th.  In  being  conducted  by  metals. 

6th.  In  cracking  in  exploding. 

7th.  In  subsisting  in  water  or  ice. 

8th.  In  rending  the  bodies  it  passeth  through. 

9th.  In  killing  animals. 
10th.  In  melting  metals. 
11th.  Firing  inflammable  substances. 
12th.  Emitting  a  sulphurous  smell. 
13th.  In  being  attracted  by  iron  points. 
"  We  do  not,  indeed,"  says  he,  "  know  that  this  property 
is  in  lightning,  but  since  electricity  and  lightning  agree  in 
so  many  other  particulars,  is  it  not  probable  that  they  agret 
also  in  this?" 

He  resolved  at  any  rate  to  make  the  experiment.  Hut 
foreseeing  what  a  blessing  it  would  be  to  mankind,  to  disarm 
the  Ughtnings  of  their  power  \o  harm,  he  did  not  in  the  piti- 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


Hi? 


ful  spirit  of  ordinary  inventors,  cautiously  conceal  the  daw  fl- 
ings of  a  discovery  that  promised  so  much  glory  to  his  name 
On  the  contrary,  and  with  a  philanthropy  that  throws  eter- 
nal loveliness  over  his  character,  he  published  his  ideas,  in- 
viting all  the  philosophers  to  make  experiments  on  this  im- 
portant subject,  and  even  pointed  the  way,  L  e.  by  insulated 
bars  of  iron  raised  to  considerable  heights  in  the  air. 

Immediately,  metallic  bars,  some  of  them  forty  feet  high, 
were  raised  towards  the  heavens,  by  sundry  philosophers, 
both  in  France  and  England.  But  God,  as  if  pleased  with 
such  disinterested  virtue,  determined  to  reserve  to  Franklin 
the  honour  of  confirming  the  truth  of  his  own  great  theory. 
H:<*  plan  to  accomplish  this,  was  in  that  simplicity  which 
chv  acterizes  all  his  inventions. 

l.o  a  common  kite,  made  of  silk  rather  than  paper,  be- 

ise  of  the  rain,  he  fixed  a  slender  iron  point.  The  string 
Wiiich  he  chose  for  his  kite  was  of  silk,  because  of  the  fond- 
ness of  lightning  for  silk;  and  for  the  same  reason,  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  string  he  tied  a  key.  With  this  simple 
preparation,  he  went  out  on  the  commons  back  of  Philadel- 
phia, as  a  thundergust  was  coming  on,  and  raised  his  kite 
towards  the  clouds.  The  lightning  soon  found  out  his  me- 
tallic rod,  as  it  soared  aloft  on  the  wings  of  the  kite,  and 
greeted  its  polished  point  with  a  cordial  kiss.  With  joy  he 
beheld  the  loose  fibres  of  his  string  raised  by  the  fond  salute 
of  the  celestial  visitant. 

He  hastened  to  clap  his  knuckle  to  the  key,  and  behold, 
a  smart  spark!  having  repeated  a  second,  and  a  third  time, 
he  charged  a  phial  with  this  strange  visitor  from  the  clouds, 
and  found  that  it  exploded  gunpowder,  set  spirits  of  wine 
on  fire,  and  performed  in  all  respects  as  the  electrical  fluid. 

It  is  not  easy  to  express  the  pleasure  which  this  clear  con- 
firmation of  his  theory  must  have  given  to  our  benevolent 
philosopher,  who  had  already  counted  up  some  of  the  great 
services  which  he  should  thereby  render  to  the  world. 

He  lost  no  time  in  communicating  these  discoveries  to  his 
friend  Collinson  in  London,  by  whom  they  were  read  with 
unimaginable  joy.  Collinson  instantly  laid  them  before  the 
Royal  Society,  not  doubting  but  they  would  be  printed 
among  their  papers,  with  the  same  enthusiasm  which  lie  had 
felt.  But  to  his  great  mortification  they  were  utterly  re- 
jected. Upon  this,  Collinson  went  in  high  dudgeon  and  print- 
ed them  himself,  which  was  looked  on  as  a  very  desperate 
kind  of  undertaking,  especially  as  he  chose  for  his  book,  a 


168 


THE  LIFE  OF 


title  that  seemed  to  carry  a  death  warrant  o.i  its  face,  viz, 
"  New  Experiments  on  Electric  ity,  made  at  Philadel- 
phia, in  North  America."  Some  ventured  however  fr» 
read  the  Experiments  on  Electricity  made  in  North 
America,  though  with  pretty  nearly  such  motives  as  usual- 
ly lead  people  to  see  the  learned  pig,  or  to  hear  a  woman 
preach.  But  the  scoffers  were  soon  turned  into  admirers. 
Discoveries  so  new  and  astonishing,  presented  in  a  manner 
so  simple,  struck  every  reader  with  admiration  and  plea- 
sure. The  book  soon  crossed  the  British  channel,  and  was 
translated  into  most  of  the  languages  of  Europe.  A  copy 
of  it,  though  miserably  translated,  had  the  fortune  to  fail 
into  the  hands  of  the  celebrated  Buffon,  who  immediately 
repeated  the  experiments  and  with  the  most  complete  suc- 
cess. Lewis  XV.  hearing  of  these  curious  exhibitions,  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  be  a  spectator  of  them.  A  course  of 
experiments  was  made  before  him  and  his  court,  to  their  ex- 
ceeding surprise  and  diversion,  by  Buffon  and  De  Lor.  The 
history  of  electricity  has  not  recorded  those  experiments. 
But  it  is  probable,  that  they  were  not  of  so  comic  a  charac- 
ter as  the  following,  wherewith  Dr.  Franklin  would  some- 
times astonish  and  delight  his  Philadelphia  friends,  during 
the  intervals  of  his  severer  studies. 

I.  In  the  presence  of  a  large  party  at  his  house,  he  took 
up  a  pistol  which  he  had  beforehand  charged  with  inflam- 
mable air,  well  stopped  with  a  cork,  and  presented  it  to 
Miss  Seaton,  a  celebrated  belle  in  those  days.  She  took  it 
from  the  doctor,  but  could  not  help  turning  pale,  as  though 
some  conjuration  was  brewing.  u  Don't  be  afraid,  madam" 
said  he,  ''for  I  give  you  my  word  that  there  is  not  a  grain 
of  poivder  in  it;  and  now  turn  it  against  any  gentleman  in 
the  room  that  you  are  angry  ivitlu"  With  a  sudden  blush, 
she  turned  it  towards  a  gentleman  whom  she  soon  after  mar- 
ried. In  the  same  instant,  the  doctor  drew  a  charged  rod 
near  the  mouth  of  the  pistol,  the  electric  spark  rushed  in, 
and  set  fire  to  the  inflammable  air;  off  went  the  pistol;  out 
flew  the  cork,  and  striking  her  lover  a  smart  shock  in  the 
face,  fell  down  on  the  floor,  to  the  exceeding  terror  at  first, 
but  afterwards,  to  the  equal  diversion  of  the  young  lady  and 
the  whole  company.    This  he  called  the  magic  pistol. 

II.  At  another  time,  in  a  large  party  at  his  house,  ah 
eager,  as  usual,  to  see  some  of  his  electrical  curiosities, 
ne  took  from  the  drawer  a  number  of  little  dogs,  made  of  the 
pith  of  elder,  with  straw  for  feet  and  tails,  and  set  them  on 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


109 


the  table.  All  eyes  were  fixed  on  him.  "  Well,  Miss  Eliza," 
said  he,  addressing  the  elegant  Miss  E.  Sitgreaves,  44  can 
you  set  these  little  dogs  a  dancing  ?"  "  No  indeed,  I  can't," 
replied  she.  44  Well,"  replied  he,  44  if  I  had  such  apair  of 
eyes  as  you  have,  I  think  I  could  do  it."  She  blushed.  46  How- 
ever,  let  us  see"  continued  he,  4k  if  we  can't  do  something." 
He  then  took  a  large  tumbler  from  the  table,  which  he  had 
previously  charged  with  the  electric  fluid,  and  clapped  the 
tumbler  over  the  dogs;  whereupon  they  instantly  fell  to 
skipping  and  jumping  up  the  sides  of  the  tumbler,  as  if  they 
were  half  mad  to  get  out  of  it.    This  he  called  "the 

DANCING  DOGS." 

III.  During  something  like  a  levee,  at  his  house,  one  night, 
a  couple  of  ladies  who  had  been  at  London  and  Paris,  were 
speaking  in  rapturous  terms  of  the  splendours  of  those  royal 
courts,  and  of  the  diamond  stars  which  they  had  seen,  glit- 
tering with  more  than  solar  lustre  on  the  breasts  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Dauphin.  At  length  one  of  the 
fair  orators,  as  if  wrought  up  to  a  perfect  adoration  of  the 
wondrous  stars  which  she  had  been  so  elegantly  depicting, 
turned  to  the  doctor,  and  smartly  asked  him  if  he  would  not 
like  mightily  to  have  such  a  star.  44  To  be  sure,  madam," 
replied  he  with  his  usual  gallantry,  44  and  suppose  we  ordei 
one?"  She  looked  surprised.  "Boy,"  continued  he, 
44  bring  me  doivn  one  of  my  electrical  jars,  and  put  it  on  the 
sideboard"  While  the  servant  was  gone,  the  doctor  took  a 
plate  of  tin,  and  cutting  it  into  a  dozen  angles,  like  a  star, 
poised  it  on  a  wire  projecting  from  his  prime  conductor. 
"  Well  now,  ladies,  put  out  the  candies,  and  you  shall  see  a 
star  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  prince  of  Wales."  The  can- 
dles were  put  out,  and  a  turn  or  two  of  the  jar  being  made, 
the  lightning  flew  to  the  plate  of  tin.  and  appeared  at  the 
extremities  of  its  angles,  in  a  blaze  of  light  beautiful  as  the 
morning  star.    This  he  called  44 the  f.lectric  star.*' 

IV.  On  his  sideboard  was  placed  an  electrical  jar,  con- 
cealed behind  a  large  picture  of  a  man  dressed  in  purple  and 
fine  linen.  At  a  short  distance  stood  a  little  brass  pillar, 
in  tront  of  which  was  the  picture  of  a  poor  man  lying  down 
ragged  and  wan  as  Lazarus.  From  the  ceiling,  and  reach- 
ing down  to  the  sideboard,  was  suspended  by  a  fine  thread, 
the  picture  of  a  boy,  with  a  face  benevolent  and  beautiful  as 
a  youthful  cherub.  44  Well,  now,  gentlemen,  do  you  know 
who  these  arc? — This  is  the  proud,  unfeeling  Dives;  that, 
the  poor  dying  Lazarus;  and  here  is  a  beautiful  boy,  that 

15 


TO 


THE  LIFE  OF 


for  humanity's  sake,  we  will  call  the  son  of  Dives.  Nun, 
gentlemen,  can  any  of  you  make  this  lovely  child  the  minister 
of  Dives''  bounty  to  poor  Lazarus  ?" 

They  all  confessed  their  inability;  regarding  him  at  the 
same  time  with  an  eye  of  expectation.  Without  being  no- 
ticed by  his  company,  he  charged  the  jar  behind  the  picture 
of  Dives  with  electric  fluid  from  his  prime  conductor.  In- 
stantly, the  beauteous  youth  flew  to  it,  and  getting  charged 
flew  to  the  brass  pillar  behind  Lazarus,  which  possessed  no 
electricity,  and  imparted  to  it  his  whole  load.  He  then  flew 
back  to  the  jar  of  Dives,  and  receiving  a  second  supply,  has- 
tened to  poor  Lazarus  and  emptied  himself  again.  And 
thus  it  went  on  to  the  astonishment  of  the  spectators,  alter- 
nately receiving  and  imparting  until  it  had  established  a 
balance  betw  een  them,  and  then,  as  if  satisfied,  it  came  to  a 
pause. 

Seeing  their  surprise,  the  doctor  thus  went  on.  4<  Well, 
now,  gentleman,  here  is  a  fine  lesson  for  us  all.  This  elec- 
tric fluid,  which  you  saw  animating  that  youth,  came  down 
from  heaven  to  teach  us  that  men  were  as  assuredly  de- 
signed to  be  helpmates  to  men,  as  were  the  tv/o  eyes,  the 
two  feet,  or  the  two  hands,  to  assist  one  another.  And  if 
all  who  are  overcharged  with  this  world's  riches  would  but 
imitate  this  good  little  electrical  angel,  and  impart  of  their 
superabundance  to  the  empty  and  the  poor,  they  would,  no 
doubt,  even  in  this  world,  find  a  much  higher  pleasure  than 
in  hoarding  it  up  for  ungrateful  heirs,  or  spending  it  on 
vanity."    This  he  called  "  Dives  and  Lazarus." 

But  it  were  an  endless  task  to  enumerate  all  the  rare  and 
beautiful  phenomena,  wherewith  he  would  surprise  and  de- 
light the  vast  circles  of  friends  and  citizens,  whose  curiosity 
w  as  so  pressing,  that,  as  he  says,  it  almost  v)ore  him  out. 

Sometimes,  in  order  to  show  them  the  force  of  electricity 
he  would  turn  his  wires  against  a  pack  of  cards,  or  a  quire 
of  paper,  and  the  subtle  fluid  would  instancy  dart  through, 
leaving  a  beautiful  perforation  like  the  puncture  of  a  large 
needle. 

Sometimes,  to  show  the  wondrous  qualities  of  electricity, 
he  would  let  them  see  it  darting,  like  a  diamond  bead, 
through  a  long  cylinder  of  water,  not  hurt,  like  other  fires, 
by  that  element. 

Sometimes  he  would  place  a  young  lady,  generally  the 
handsomest  of  the  company,  on  his  electrical  stool;  then  by 
slily  touching  her  dress  with  his  magic  wand,  he  would  so 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


171 


till  her  lovely  frame  with  the  electric  fluid,  that,  on  the  ap- 
proach of  any  you  no;  gentleman  to  kiss  her,  a  spark  from 
her  ruby  lips  would  suddenly  drive  him  frightened  and  stag- 
gering back.    This  was  called  the  "  magic  kiss." 

Sometimes  he  would  fix  figures  of  horses  cut  in  paper,  on 
wires  nicely  poised,  so  as  to  move  in  circles  round  his  prime 
conductor,  then,  from  his  magic  wand,  he  would  dash  on 
them  a  stream  of  mimic  lightning,  which,  potent  as  the 
whips  and.  spurs  of  Newmarket,  would  set  them  all  in  full 
speed,  bending  and  buckling  with  glorious  emulation  in  the 
beautiful  contest,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  spectators. 
The  public  named  this  the  "  electrical  horse  race." 

Sometimes  he  would  suspend,  near  the  ceiling,  a  large 
Hock  of  finely  picked  cotton,  or  place  on  a  distant  table,  a 
paper  of  gunpowder;  then  from  his  wires,  artfully  directed, 
he  would  send  a  flash  of  lightning,  instantly  exploding  the 
powder,  and  wrapping  the  cotton  into  a  blaze. 

Sometimes  he  would  take  the  model  of  a  double-geared 
water  mill,  turning  two  pair  of  stones,  and  placing  it  near 
his  prime  conduc'ur,  direct  a  stream  of  electric  fire  against 
the  large  wheel,  setting  it  in  motion,  and  with  it  the  whole 
machinery  of  his  mill,  to  the  equal  surprise  and  pleasure  of 
the  beholders. 

Sometimes  he  would  take  the  figures  of  the  sun,  moon, 
and  earth,  cut  in  papers,  and  fix  them  on  wires,  nicely 
balanced.  Then,  by  the  force  of  the  electric  fluid,  he  would 
set  them  a-going  in  most  harmonious  style — the  earth  re- 
volving round  her  own  axis;  the  moon  round  the  earth;  and 
both  round  the  sun;  all  exactly  according  to  the  course 
which  the  hand  of  the  Creator  had  prescribed  to  these 
mighty  orbs. 

For  the  sake  of  those  who  have  never  considered  this 
wonderful  attraction  of  lightning  to  iron  rods,  I  beg  leave  to 
relate  the  following  very  extraordinary  and  daring  experi- 
ments of  Dr.  FranMin. 

In  a  large  chamber,  which  he  kept  for  his  electrical  appa 
ratus  and  experiments,  he  suspended  a  number  of  bells,  alt 
connected  by  wires,  and  communicating,  through  the  gable 
end  of  the  house,  with  the  large  lightning  rods  that  de  - 
scended along  the  chimney  to  the  ground.  His  aim  in  this 
contiivance  was,  that  he  might  know  whenever  a  lightning 
cloud  passed  over  his  house  in  the  night;  and  also  what 
freight  of  electrical  fluid  it  carried  about  with  it.  For?  as 
it  seldom  passes,  without  paying  a  loving  visit  to  his  rod,  so* 


172 


THE  LIFE  OF 


it  always  told,  with  great  honesty,  the  amount  of  its  m 
flammable  cargo,  especially  if  it  was  ample;  in  which  case, 
it  was  alwavs  sure  to  set  the  bells  a  ringing  at  a  terrible  rate 

And  besides  these,  he  had  numbers  of  men  and  women  of 
the  Lilliputian  stature,  cut  in  paper,  and  so  artfully  at- 
tached to  the  clappers,  that  as  soon  as  the  bells  began  to 
ring,  the  men  and  women  began  to  dance  also,  and  all  of 
them  more  and  more  merrily,  according  as  this  extraordinary 
kind  of  music  played  up  more  briskly.  But  though,  for  the 
amusement  of  his  friends,  Franklin  would  sometimes  set  his 
bells  and  dolls  to  ringing  and  dancing,  by  his  electricity, 
yet  his  main  object  was,  to  invite  the  lightnings  to  be  the 
bell  ringers,  and  dancing  masters  to  his  puppets,  that,  as 
before  observed,  he  might  become  better  acquainted  with 
the  nature  of  lightning,  and  thus  extend  his  electrical  ex- 
periments and  knowledge. 

But  it  must  be  owned,  that  when  the  lightnings  were 
drawn  down  for  this  purpose  among  the  bells  and  wires  ot 
his  chamber,  the  entertainment  was  almost  too  terrible  to 
be  agreeable  to  any  but  philosophers. 

The  elegant  J.  Dickinson,  Esq.  informed  me,  that  he  was 
at  Dr.  Franklin's  one  evening,  with  a  large  party,  when  a 
dreadful  cloud  began  to  rise,  with  distant  thunder  and 
lightning.  The  ladies,  panic  struck,  as  usual,  were  all  in  a 
prodigious  bustle  for  their  bonnets,  to  get  home.  The  doc- 
tor entreated  them  not  to  be  frightened ;  for  that  they  were 
in  the  safest  house  in  Philadelphia;  and  indeed,  jokingly 
offered  to  underwrite  their  lives  at  the  low  premium  of  a 
groat  a  head. 

When  the  storm  was  near  its  worst,  he  invited  his  com- 
pany up  into  his  large  chamber.  A  glimmering  light  faintly 
showed  them  his  electrical  apparatus  of  globes,  cylinders, 
bells,  wires,  and  the  Lord  knows  what,  conveying  to  those 
of  the  superstitious  sort,  a  strong  idea  of  a  magic  cell,  or  a 
nauuted  castle,  at  least.  Presently  a  dreadful  clap  of  thun- 
der shook  the  house  over  their  heads,  the  chamber  was  filled 
with  vivid  lightnings,  darting  like  fiery  serpents,  crackling 
and  hissing  along  the  wire  all  around  them,  while  the  strong 
smell  of  sulphur,  together  with  the  screams  of  the  poor  la- 
dies, and  the  ringing  of  the  bells,  completed  the  terrible- 
ness  of  the  scene,  inspiring  a  fearful  sense  of  the  invisible 
world. 

"  But  all  these  things,  gentlemen,"  he  would  say,  smiling 
all  the  time  on  his  crowding  and  gaping  friends,  as  a  parent 


DR.  FRANK  UN. 


173 


'»n  his  children,  whom  ho  saw  surprised  at  small  ma  (Iris, 
"  all  these  things  are  mere  nothings;  the  childish  sportings 
of  an  art  bat  yet  in  its  cradle.  Electricity,  gentlemen,  is  of 
the  terrible  family  of  lightning,  that  most  powerful  of  the 
works  of  God  on  this  globe,  and  the  chosen  instrument  of 
most  of  his  operations  here  below.  It  is  the  electric  fluid, 
(passing  from  a  full  cloud  to  an  empty  one,)  that  makes  his 
voice,  and  that,  as  the  scripture  says,  a  terrible  voice,  even 
the  thunder,  to  terrify  the  guilty,  and  to  increase  in  the 
virtuous  a  becoming  reverence  of  the  Creator.  For  if  the 
electric  fluid  passing  from  a  small  jar,  cause  so  loud  a 
crack,  why  should  we  wonder  at  the  dreadful  peals  of  thun- 
der that  are  occasioned,  when  thousands  and  myriads  of 
acres  of  clouds  are  throwing  oft*  their  electric  fluid  in  rivers 
of  living  fires,  sufficient  to  blow  up  the  globe  itself,  if  the 
Almighty  were  but  to  let  loose  his  hold  on  these  furious 
agents.  And  this  electric  fluid  is  that  same  lightning  which, 
as  David  says,  shines  out  from  one  end  of  Heaven  to  another, 
and  that  so  instantaneously,  that  were  all  the  men,  women, 
and  children,  on  earth,  joining  hands,  to  form  a  ring  round 
this  great  globe,  an  electric  shock  given  to  the  first  person 
in  that  ring,  would  so  suddenly  reach  the  last,  that  they 
themselves  would  probably  be  at  a  loss  to  determine  which 
of  them  received  it  first. 

"  Thus  the  electric  fluid,  in  the  form  of  lightning,  serves 
also  in  the  hand  of  heaven  as  the  red  rod  to  restrain  the 
vicious.  Does  the  benevolent  governor  of  the  world  seek  to 
impress  a  salutary  awe  on  the  gambler,  the  drunkard,  and 
such  immoral  characters,  whose  lives  are  in  constant  oppo- 
sition to  their  own  and  the  happiness  of  others  ?  He  but 
speaks  to  his  ready  ministers,  the  lightnings.  Quickly, 
from  the  sultry  cloud,  coming  up  with  muttering  thunder, 
black  and  terrible  as  nature's  approaching  pall,  the  fright- 
ening flash  bursts  forth,  rending  the  trees  and  houses  over 
their  heads;  killing  their  flocks  and  herds;  and  filling  the 
air  with  smoking  sulphur,  a  strong  memento  of  that  dismal 
place  to  which  their  evil  practices  are  leading  them.  And 
when,  to  unthinking  mortals,  he  sees  fit  to  read  instruction 
on  a  wider  scale,  he  only  needs  but  beckon  to  the  electric 
fluid.  Straightway  this  subtle  servant  of  his  power  rushes 
forth,  clad  in  various  forms  of  terror,  sometimes  as  the  roar- 
ing whirlwind,  unroofing  the  palaces  of  kings,  and  desolat- 
ing the  forests  in  its  course.  Sometimes  with  dreadful  stride 
it  rushes  forth  upon  the  '  howling  wilderness  of  waves,'  in 

15* 


\T4 


THE  MFE  OF 


shape  of  the  funnelled  water-spout,  with  hideous  roar  and 
,  roam,  whirling  the  frightened  billows  to  the  clouds,  or  dash- 
ing them  back  with  thundering  crash  into  their  dismal 
gulphs;  while  the  hearts  of  the  seamen,  looking  on,  sink 
with  terror  at  the  sight,  and  even  sharks  and  sea-monsters 
Hy  for  refuge  to  their  oozy  caverns. 

"  Sometimes,  with  the  bolder  aim  of  the  earthquake,  it 
strikes  both  sea  and  land  at  once,  sending  the  frightened 
globe  bellowing  and  trembling  along  her  orbit,  sadly  pon- 
dering the  coming  day,  when  the  measure  of  sin  being  filled 
up,  she  shall  be  wrapt  in  these  same  electric  fires,  perhaps, 
and  lose  her  place  for  ever  among  the  starry  train." 

Hut  though  the  experiments  above  mentioned  are  highly  cu- 
rious; and  also  Dr.  Franklin's  reflections  on  them  abundantly 
philosophical  and  correct,  for  what  I  know,  vet  the  world 
should  learn  that  the  gratification  of  public  curiosity  formed 
but  a  very  small  part  of  his  many  and  grand  discoveries  in 
electricity.  For  soon  as  he  had  ascertained  that  lightning 
was  tlie  same  thing  with  the  electric  fluid,  and  like  it,  so 
passionately  fond  of  iron  that  it  would  forsake  every  tiling 
else  in  its  course,  to  run  along  upon  that  beloved  metal,  he 
conceived  the  plan  of  putting  this  discovery  to  those  benefi- 
cent uses  for  which  alone  he  thought  the  power  of  discovery 
was  given  to  man,  and  which  alone  can  consecrate  it  to  the 
divine  Giver. 

"  The  grand  practical  use,"  says  the  learned  Mr.  Immi- 
son,  who,  though  a  Scotch  monarchist  himself,  had  the  ex- 
traordinary virtue  to  be  a  profound  admirer  of  our  republi- 
can American, — 66  the  grand  practical  use  which  Dr.  Frank- 
lin made  of  this  discovery  was  to  secure  houses  and  ships 
from  being  damaged  by  lightning;  a  thing  of  vast  conse- 
quence in  all  parts  of  the  world,  but  more  especially  in 
North  America,  where  thundergusts  are  more  frequent  and 
their  effects,  in  that  dry  air,  more  dreadful  than  they  are 
ever  known  to  be  with  us.  This  great  end  he  accomplished 
by  the  cheap,  and  seemingly  trifling,  apparatus  of  a  pointed 
metallic  rod,  fixed  higher  than  any  part  of  the  building,  and 
communicating  with  the  ground,  or  rather  the  nearest  water. 
This  rod  the  lightning  is  sure  to  seize  upon  preferably  to 
my  other  part  of  the  building,  unless  it  be  very  large;  in 
which  case,  rods  may  be  erected  at  each  extremity;  by 
which  means  this  dangerous  power  is  safely  conducted  to  the 
earth,  and  dissipated  without  doing  any  harm  to  the  edifice." 

Had  any  thing  more  been  necessary  to  convince  the  world 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


149 


my  sister — and  1  mention  it  in  confidence,  upon  this  occa- 
sion, that  she  is  subject  to  the  gout,  the  rheumatism,  and 
cramp,  without  making  mention  of  other  accidents — what 
would  be  the  fate  of  our  poor  family  ?  Must  not  the  regret 
of  our  parents  be  excessive,  at  having  placed  so  great  a  dis- 
tance between  sisters  who  are  so  perfectly  equal  ?  Alas! 
we  must  perish  from  distress:  for  it  would  not  be  in  my 
power  even  to  scrawl  a  suppliant  petition  for  relief,  having 
been  obliged  tp  employ  the  hand  of  another  in  transcribing 
the  request  which  I  have  now  the  honour  to  prefer  to  you. 

Condescend,  sirs,  to  make  my  parents  sensible  of  the  in- 
justice of  an  exclusive  tenderness,  and  of  the  necessity  of 
distributing  their  care  and  affection  among  all  their  children 
equally.    I  am,  with  profound  respect,  Sirs, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

THE  LEFT  HAND. 


The  following  essays  strikingly  illustrate  the  admirable 
wisdom  and  philanthropy  of  Dr.  Franklin;  and,  if  read 
practically,  would,  no  doubt,  greatly  lessen  the  number  both 
of  physicians  and  patients. 

THE  ART  OF  PROCURING  PLEASANT  DREAMS. 

As  a  great  part  of  our  life  is  spent  in  sleep,  during  which 
we  have  sometimes  pleasing,  and  sometimes  painful  dreams, 
it  becomes  of  some  consequence  to  obtain  the  one  kind, 
and  avoid  the  other;  for  whether  real  or  imaginary,  pain  is 
pain,  and  pleasure  is  pleasure.  If  we  can  sleep  without 
dreaming,  it  is  well  that  painful  dreams  are  avoided.  If, 
while  we  sleep,  we  can  have  pleasing  dreams,  it  is  so  much 
clear  gain  to  the  pleasures  of  life. 

To  this  end,  it  is,  in  the  first  place,  necessary  to  be  care- 
ful in  preserving  health — for,  in  sickness,  the  imagination 
is  disturbed;  and  disagreeable,  sometimes  terrible  ideas  are 
apt  to  present  themselves.  But  for  health,  our  main  depen- 
dence is  on  exercise  and  temperance.  These  render  the 
appetite  sharp,  the  digestion  easy,  the  body  lightsome,  and 
the  temper  cheerful,  with  sweet  sleep  and  pleasant  dreams. 
While  indolence  and  full  feeding  never  fail  to  bring  oh 
loaded  stomachs,  with  night-mares  and  horrors — we  fall 
from  precipices — are  stung  by  serpents — assaulted  by  wild 
beasts — murderers — devils — with  all  the  black  train  of  un- 
imaginable danger  and  wo.  Temperance,  then,  is  all-im- 
13* 


150 


THE  LIFE  OF 


portant  to  sweet  sleep  and  pleasant  dreaming.  But  a  mam 
point  of  temperance,  is  to  shun  hearty  suppers,  which  are 
indeed  not  safe,  even  when  dinner  has  been  missed;  what 
then  must  be  the  consequence  of  hearty  suppers  after  full 
dinners?  why  only  restless  nights  and  frightful  dreams;  and 
sometimes  a  stroke  of  the  apoplexy,  after  which  they  sleep 
till  doomsday.  The  newspapers  often  relate  instances  of 
persons,  who,  after  eating  hearty  suppers,  are  found  dead  in 
their  beds  next  morning. 

Another  grand  mean  of  preserving  health,  is  to  admit  a 
constant  supply  of  fresh  air  into  your  chamber.  A  more 
sad  mistake  was  never  committed  than  that  of  sleeping  in 
tight  rooms,  and  beds  closely  curtained.  This  has  arisen 
from  the  dread  of  night  air.  But,  after  all  the  clamour  and 
abuse  that  have  been  heaped  on  night  air,  it  is  very  certain 
that  no  outward  air,  that  may  come  in,  is  half  so  unwhole- 
some as  the  air  often  breathed  in  a  close  chamber.  As  boil- 
ing water  does  not  grow  hotter  by  longer  boiling,  if  the 
particles  that  receive  greater  heat  can  escape;  so  living  bo- 
dies do  not  putrify,  if  the  particles,  as  fast  as  they  become 
putrid,  can  be  thrown  off.  Nature  expels  them  by  the  pores 
of  the  skin  and  lungs,  and  in  a  free  open  air  they  are  carried 
off ;  but,  in  a  close  room,  we  receive  them  again  and  again, 
though  they  become  more  and  more  corrupt.  A  number  of 
persons  crowded  into  a  small  room,  thus  spoil  the  air  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  even  render  it  mortal,  as  in  the  black  hole 
at  Calcutta.*  A  single  person  is  said  to  spoil  a  gallon  of 
air  per  minute,  and  therefore  requires  a  longer  time  to  spoil 
a  chamber  full;  but  it  is  done,  however,  in  proportion,  and 
many  putrid  disorders  hence  have  their  origin.  It  is  re- 
corded of  Methusalem,  who,  being  the  longest  liver,  may  be 
supposed  to  have  best  preserved  his  health,  that  he  slept 
always  in  the  open  air;  for  when  he  had  lived  five  hundred 
years,  an  angel  said  to  him,  '*  arise,  Methusalem,  and  build 
thee  an  house,  for  thou  shalt  live  yet  Jive  hundred  years 
longer."  But  Methusalem  answered  and  said,  "  If  I  am  to 
live  but  fivf  hundred  years  longer,  it  is  not  worth  while  to 
build  mc  an  house — /  will  sleep  in  the  air,  as  I  have  been 
used  io  dr.""  Physicians,  after  having  for  ages  contended 
that  the  sick  should  not  be  indulged  with  fresh  air,  have  at 
length  discovered  that  it  may  do  them  good.    It  is  therefore 

*  In  India,  where  out  of  140  poor  British  prisoners  shut  up  in  a  close 
small  room  120  of  them  perished  in  one  night. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


151 


to  be  hoped  that  it  is  not  hurtful  to  those  who  are  in  health, 
and  that  we  may  be  then  cured  of  the  acrophobia  that  at  pi  e- 
sent  distresses  weak  minds,  and  makes  them  choose  to  be 
stifled  and  poisoned,  rather  than  leave  open  the  windows  of 
a  bed  chamber,  or  put  down  the  glass  of  a  coach. 

Confined  air,  when  saturated  with  perspirable  matter,* 
will  not  receive  more;  and  that  matter  must  remain  in  our 
bodies,  and  occasions  diseases;  but  it  gives  some  previous 
notice  of  its  being  about  to  be  hurtful,  by  producing  certain 
uneasinesses  which  are  difficult  to  describe,  and  few  that 
feel  know  the  cause.  But  we  may  recollect,  that  sometimes, 
on  waking  in  the  night,  we  have,  if  warmly  covered,  found 
it  difficult  to  get  asleep  again.  We  turn  often  without 
finding  repose  in  any  position.  This  fidgetiness,  to  use  a 
vulgar  expression  for  the  want  of  a  better,  is  occasioned 
wholly  by  an  uneasiness  in  the  skin,  owing  to  the  retention 
of  the  perspirable  matter,  the  bed-clothes  having  received 
their  quantity,  and,  being  saturated,  refusing  to  take  any 
more. 

When  you  are  awakened  by  this  uneasiness,  and  find  you 
cannot  easily  sleep  again,  get  out  of  bed,  beat  up  and  turn 
your  pillow,  shake  the  bed-clothes  well,  with  at  least  twenty 
shakes,  then  throw  the  bed  open,  and  leave  it  to  cool;  in  the 
meanwhile,  continuing  undrest,  walk  about  your  chamber, 
till  your  skin  has  had  time  to  discharge  its  load,  which  it 
will  do  sooner  as  the  air  may  be  drier  and  colder.  When 
you  begin  to  feel  the  cool  air  unpleasant,  then  return  to 
your  bed,  and  you  will  soon  fall  asleep,  and  your  sleep  will 
be  sweet  and  pleasant.  All  the  scenes  presented  by  your 
fancy,  will  be  of  the  pleasing  kind.  I  am  often  as  agreeably 
entertained  with  them,  as  by  the  scenery  of  an  opera.  It 
you  happen  to  be  too  indolent  to  get  out  of  bed,  you  may 
instead  of  it,  lift  up  your  bed-clothes  so  as  to  draw  in  a  good 
deal  of  fresh  air,  and.  by  letting  them  fall,  force  it  out  again. 
This,  repeated  twenty  times,  will  so  clear  them  of  the  per- 
spirable matter  they  have  imbibed,  as  to  permit  your  sleep- 
ing well  for  some  time  afterwards.  But  this  latter  method 
is  not  equal  to  the  former. 

Those  who  do  not  love  trouble,  and  can  afford  to  have 
two  beds,  will  find  great  luxury  in  rising,  when  they  wake 

*  What  physicians  call  the  perspirable  matter,  is  that  vapour  which 
passes  off  from  our  bodies,  from  the  lungs,  and  through  the  pore*  of 
the  skin.    The  quautitv  of  this  is  said  to  be  five-eighths  of  what  we 


152 


THE  LIFE  OF 


in  a  hot  bed,  and  going  into  the  cool  one.  Such  shifting  oi 
beds,  would  be  of  great  service  to  persons  ill  in  a  fever;  as 
it  refreshes  and  frequently  procures  sleep.  A  very  large 
bed,  that  will  admit  a  removal  so  distant  from  the  first 
situation  as  to  be  cool  and  sweet,  may  in  a  degree  answer 
the  same  end. 

These  are  the  rules  of  the  art.  But  though  they  will 
generally  prove  effectual  in  producing  the  end  intended, 
there  is  a  case  in  which  the  most  punctual  observance  of 
them  will  be  totally  fruitless.  This  case  is,  when  the  per- 
son who  desires  to  have  pleasant  dreams  has  not  taken  care 
to  preserve,  what  is  necessary  above  all  things — A  GOOD 
CONSCIENCE. 

ON  THE  ART  OF  SWIMMING. 

The  exercise  of  swimming  is  one  of  the  most  healthy 
and  agreeable  in  the  world.  After  having  swam  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  the  evening,  one  sleeps  coolly  the  whole 
night,  even  during  the  most  ardent  heat  of  summer.  Per- 
haps the  pores  being  cleansed,  the  insensible  perspiration 
Increases,  and  occasions  this  coolness.  It  is  certain  that 
much  swimming  is  the  means  of  stopping  a  diarrhoea  and 
even  of  producing  a  constipation.  With  respect  to  those 
who  do  not  know  how  to  swim,  or  who  are  affected  with  a 
diarrhoea  at  the  season  which  does  not  permit  them  to 
use  that  exercise,  a  warm  bath,  by  cleansing  and  purifying 
the  skin,  is  found  very  salutary,  and  often  effects  a  radical 
cure.  I  speak  from  my  own  experience,  frequently  re- 
peated, and  that  of  others,  to  whom  I  have  recommended  this 

You  will  not  be  displeased  if  I  conclude  these  hasty  re- 
marks by  informing  you,  that  as  the  ordinary  method  of 
swimming  is  reduced  to  the  act  of  rowing  with  the  arms  and 
legs,  and  is  consequently  a  laborious  and  fatiguing  operation, 
when  the  space  of  water  to  be  crossed  is  considerable;  there 
is  a  method  in  which  a  swimmer  may  pass  a  great  distance 
with  much  facility,  by  means  of  a  sail.  This  discovery  I 
fortunately  made  by  accident,  and  in  the  following  manner. 

When  I  was  a  boy,  I  amused  myself  one  day  with  Hying 
a  paper  kite;  and  approaching  the  bank  of  a  pond,  which 
was  near  a  mile  broad,  I  tied  the  string  to  a  stake,  and  the 
kite  ascended  to  a  very  considerable  height,  above  the  pond> 
while  1  was  swimming.  In  a  little  time,  being  desirous  of 
amusing  myself  with  my  kite,  and  enjoying  at  the  same 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


of  the  value  of  lightning  rods  to  buildings,  it  was  abundantly 
furnished  by  several  very  terrible  instances  of  destruction 
which  took  place  about  this  time  in  several  parts  of  America, 
for  no  other  reason  upon  earth,  as  every  one  must  admit  who 
reads  the  account,  but  the  want  of  lightning  rods. 

There,  for  example,  was  the  affair  of  the  new  church,  in 
the  town  of  Newberry,  New-England.  This  stately  build- 
ing was  adorned  om  its  north  etad  with  an  elegant  steeple  or 
tower  of  wood,  running  up  in  a  fine  square,  seventy  feet 
from  the  ground  to  the  bell,  and  thence  went  oft*  in  a  taper 
spire  of  wood,  likewise  seventy  feet  higher,  to  the  weather- 
cock. Near  the  bell  was  fixed  an  iron  hammer  to  strike 
the  hours;  and  from  the  tail  of  the  hammer,  a  wire  went 
down  through  a  small  gimblet  hole  in  the  floor  that  the  bell 
stood  upon,  and  through  a  second  floor  in  like  manner;  then 
horizontally  under  the  plaistered  ceiling  of  that  floor  to  a 
plaistered  wall,  then  down  that  wall  to  a  clock  which  stood 
about  twenty  feet  below  the  bell. 

Now  come,  gentlemen,  you  who  have  no  faith  in  lightning 
rods — you  who  think  it  blasphemy  to  talk  of  warding  oft 
Gop  Almighty's  lightning  1 — as  if  it  were  not  just  as 
pleasing  to  him  to  see  you  warding  off  the  lightning  by  steel 
rods,  as  warding  off  the  ague  and  fever  by  Jesuit's  bark; 
come,  I  say,  and  see  how  very  visibly  he  approbates  our 
works  of  wisdom,  which  make  us  like  himself.  You  have 
read  the  structure  of  this  steeple — the  top,  a  seventy  feet 
spire  without  any  rod — then  a  rod  that  went  down  zigzag, 
about  thirty  feet;  then  a  plaistered  brick  and  stone  wall 
without  any  rod,  to  the  ground.  A  dreadful  cloud  came 
over  the  steeple.  At  the  first  flash,  away  went  the  whole 
of  the  seventy  foot  wooden  spire,  scattered  all  over  the 
church  yard  in  splinters  fit  to  boil  the  preacher's  tea  kettle. 
The  lightning  then  found  the  iron  wire  which  it  instantly 
seized  on,  quitting  all  things  else  for  that,  and  darting  along 
with  it  in  so  close  an  embrace,  as  barely  to  widen  a  little 
the  gimblet  holes  through  which  it  passed.  It  then  followed 
the  wire  in  all  its  meanders,  whether  perpendicular  or  hori- 
zontal— never  turning  either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  to 
hurt  the  building,  but  passed  through  it  the  whole  length  of 
the  wire,  which  was  about  thirty  feet,  as  harmlessly  as  a 
lamb.  But  soon  as  its  dear  chain  was  ended,  it  assumed 
the  furious  lion  again;  attacking  the  building  with  the  most 
destructive  rage,  dashing  its  foundation  stones  to  a  great 
distance,  and  in  other  respects  damaging  it  dreadfully. 


176 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Now  what  can  bo  more  reasonable  than  doctor  Franklin's 
remarks  on  this  very  remarkable  occurrence  ? 

64  I.  That  lightning,  in  its  passage  through  a  building, 
will  leave  wood,  brick,  or  stone,  to  pass  as  far  as  it  can  in 
metal;  and  not  enter  those  again,  till  the  metal  conductor 
ceases. 

"  II.  The  quantity  of  lightning  that  passed  through  this 
steeple  must  have  been  very  great,  by  its»effects  on  the  lofty 
spire,  &c,  and  yet  great  as  this  quantity  was,  it  was  con 
ducted  by  a  small  wire  without  the  least  damage  to  the 
building  as  far  as  the  wire  extended. 

"  lit.  Hence  it  seems  probable,  that  if  even  such  a  small 
wire  had  been  extended  from  the  top  of  the  steeple  to  the 
earth,  before  the  storm,  no  damage  would  have  been  done 
by  that  stroke  of  lightning." 

A  fate  exactly  similar  to  this  attended  the  great  Dutch 
church,  of  New  York,  in  1750.  As  far  as  the  wire  was  ex 
tended,  which  was  from  the  top  ot  the  steeple,  to  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  earth,  the  lightning  closely  accompanied  it, 
passing  with  it  through  small  holes  in  the  floors,  without  do- 
ing the  least  damage.  But  the  instant  it  quitted  the  wire, 
it  commenced  its  ravages  on  the  building. 

The  summer  of  1760  was  dreadfully  hot  in  Pennsylvania; 
and  the  thunder  gusts  frequent  and  terrible.  Several  ships 
at  the  wharves  were  struck  and  greatly  injured.  One  of 
them  in  particular,  a  very  large  ship,  had  her  mainmast  torn 
to  pieces,  and  her  captain  and  three  seamen  killed.  Of 
houses,  both  in  town  and  country,  many  were  struck;  and 
some  of  them,  as  barns  with  large  quantities  of  hay,  and 
warehouses  with  hemp,  were  set  on  fire  and  destroyed  to  the 
great  detriment  and  terror,  both  of  the  unfortunate  sufferers 
and  their  neighbours. 

These  things,  though  melancholy  in  themselves,  were  not 
without  their  good  effects.  They  served  to  place  in  the 
strongest  point  of  view,  the  admirable  efficacy  of  the  newly 
invented  lightning  rods.  For,  while  buildings  destitute  of 
them,  were  often  struck,  and  sometimes  with  great  loss  of 
lives  and  property,  those  houses  that  had  them,  were  hardly 
ever  known  to  be  hurt,  though  the  neighbours  who  saw  the 
dismal  clouds  when  they  bursted,  with  such  hideous  peals 
of  thunder  and  streams  of  lightning,  were  sickened  with 
horrid  apprehension  that  all  was  lost.  -  And  even  the  house 
keepers  themselves,  when  recovered  from  their  terrors  and 
Caintings,  would  fly  shrieking  from  chamber  to  chamber, 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


17? 


amidst  the  clouds  of  sulphur  to  see  who  were  dead.  But 
behold,  to  the  delicious  wonder  of  themselves  and  congratu- 
lating friends,  ali  were  safe.  But  still  the  cry  was,  certainly 
the  house  was  struck.'  the  house  was  surely  struck!  let  us  ex- 
amine the  conductors. 

The  conductors  were  resorted  to  and  examined,  and  be- 
hold! the  wondrous  laws  imposed  of  God  on  the  most  pow- 
erful of  his  creatures.!  The  furious  lightnings  had  fallen  on 
the  houses  in  torrents  of  fire,  threatening  a  wide  destruction. 
But  the  iron  rods,  faithful  to  their  trust,  had  arrested  the 
impending  bolts,  and  borne  them  in  safety  to  the  ground. 

But  it  was  found  that  the  cataracts  of  lightning  had  proved 
too  powerful  for  the  rods$  in  some  instances  melting  them  in 
two  at  their  slenderest  parts,  and  in  others  entirely  con- 
suming them  into  smoke.  But  thougn  these  guardian  rods 
had  perished  in  their  conflict  w  ith  the  rude  lightnings,  yet 
they  had  succeeded  in  parrying  the  dreadful  stroke  with 
perfect  safety  to  the  buildings  and  their  terrified  inhabitants; 
thus  impressing  all  men  with  joy  and  thankfulness,  that  God 
had  given  such  complete  victory  over  one  of  the  most  terrible 
of  all  our  natural  enemies. 

In  short,  to  use  the  handsome  language  of  president 
Adams,  **  nothing  perhaps  that  ever  occurred  on  earth,  could 
have  better  tended  to  confer  universal  celebrity  on  man, 
than  did  these  lightning  rods  of  doctor  Franklin's.  The  idea 
was  certainly  one  of  the  most  sublime  ever  suggested  to  the 
human  imagination.  That  mortal  man  should  thus  be  taught 
to  disarm  the  clouds  of  heaven,  and  almost  snatch  from  his 
hand  6  the  sceptre  and  the  rodP  " 

The  ancients  would,  no  doubt,  have  enrolled  among  their 
gods,  the  author  of  so  wonderful  an  invention.  Indeed  the 
reputation  w  hich  franklin  acquired  by  it,  not  only  in  Ame- 
rica, but  in  Europe  also,  far  transcended  all  conception. 
His  lightning  rods,  or  as  the  French  called  them,  his  "para- 
toner  res,"  elected  their  heads,  not  only  on  the  temples  of 
God  and  the  palaces  of  kings,  but  also  on  the  masts  of  ships 
and  the  habitations  of  ordinary  citizens.  The  sight  of  them 
every  where  reminded  the  gazing  world  of  the  name  and 
character  of  their  inventor,  who  vva»  tnought  of  by  the  multi- 
tude as  some  great  magician  dwelling  in  the  fairy  lands  of 
North  America,  and  to  whom  God  had  given  controul  over 
the  elements  of  nature. 

And  equally  wonderful  was  the  change  produced  by  them 
in  the  state  of  general  comfort  The  millions,  who  had  hitherto 


178 


THE  LIFE  OF 


trembled  at  the  cloud  rising  in  the  heat  of  summer,  cuml 
mow  look  on  it  with  pleasing  awe  as  it  rose  dark  and  solemn, 
with  all  its  muttering  thunders.  And  even  amidst  the  min- 
gled flash  and  crash  of  the  earth  shaking  tornado,  the  very 
women  and  children,  if  they  had  but  Franklin  paratonerres 
to  their  chimnies,  would  sit  perfectly  composed,  silently 
adoring  God  for  teaching  such  great  salvation  to  men. 

But  the  pleasure  which  doctor  Franklin  found  in  these 
plaudits  of  an  honest  world  was  not  without  an  alloy. 
Though  the  end  of  his  labours  had  been  to  do  good;  yet  he 
soon  discovered  that  there  were  some  who  sickened  at  his 
success.  Alas! 

"  Among  the  suns  of  men,  how  few  are  known 
Who  dare  be  just  to  merit,  not  t heir  own." 

Certain  invidious  scribblers,  in  London  and  Paris,  began 
to  decry  his  well-earned  glory,  by  pretending  that  it  was  all 
due  to  the  Abbe  Noilet,  to  doctor  Gilbert,  or  some  other 
wonderful  Frenchman  or  Englishman,  as  the  real  father  of 
electricity.  Franklin  took  no  notice  of  all  this  impotent 
malice;  nor  indeed  was  it  necessary;  for  soon  as  it  dared  to 
present  its  brazen  front  in  print,  it  was  attacked  by  the  first- 
rate  philosophers  of  Europe,  who  nobly  taking  the  part  of 
Franklin,  soon  showed,  to  the  general  satisfaction,  that 
whatever  others  may  have  dreamed  about  the  late  wonder- 
ful discoveries  in  electricity,  they  were  all  due,  under  God, 
to  the  great  American  philosopher,  who  for  these,  and  many 
other  important  discoveries,  had  a  good  right  to  share  with 
Newton  in  the  following  bold  compliment. 

"Nature  and  nature's  works  lay  hid  in  night, 
God  said,  let  Franklin  be,  and  all  was  light*" 

—>•»♦©  @  — 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  curious  demonstration  of  Dr.  Franklin's  philosophy 
of  lightning.  About  thirty -four  years  after  this  date,  when 
Doctor  Franklin,  by  his  opposition  to  Lord  North's  mea- 
sures, had  become  very  unpopular,  George  III.  was  per- 
suaded to  pull  down  the  sharp  points  of  that  "  hoary 
rebel,"  and  set  up  the  blunts  of  an  impudent  quack,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  he  was  a  loyal  subject !  Scarcely  were  the 
marps  taken  down  from  the  palace,  to  which,  during  thirty 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


181 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

I  have  been  told  that  Dr.  Franklin  on  his  death  bed  often 
returned  thanks  to  God  for  having  so  kindly  cast  his  lot  of 
life  in  the  very  time  when  of  all  others  he  would  have  chosen 
to  live  for  the  great  purposes  of  usefulness  and  pleasure. 
And  so  indeed  it  appears;  for  scarcely  had  he  matured,  as 
above,  his  most  useful  discoveries  in  electricity,  before  a  new 
door  was  opened  to  him  for  another  noble  charity  to  his  country 

Some  there  are  who  for  a  good  work  begun  by  themselves 
will  do  every  thing;  but  for  the  same  work  begun  by  others 
will  do  nothing;  and  yet  will  call  themselves  christians. 
Franklin  lived  to  set  the  example  of  a  better  Christianity. 
A  notable  instance  of  this  occurred  about  this  time,  1754. 

A  Dr.  Thomas  Bond,  having  noticed  a  number  of  families 
so  extremely  poor,  as  to  be  in  imminent  danger  not  only  of 
suffering  grievously  in  case  of  sickness,  but  of  actually  pe- 
rishing for  want  of  wholesome  food  and  medicine,  generously 
undertook,  by  subscription,  to  build  a  hospital  for  these  suf- 
ferers. Meeting  with  but  little  encouragement,  and  knowing 
Dr.  Franklin's  influence  and  public  spirit,  he  applied  to  him 
for  assistance.  Perfectly  indifferent  who  got  the  praise, 
provided  he  but  shared  the  pleasure  of  founding  so  god-like 
an  institution,  Franklin  entered  very  heartily  into  the  plan 
with  Dr.  Bond,  and  inserted  in  his  newspaper,  a  series  of  es- 
says, "  on  the  great  duty  of  charity  to  the  sick  and  miserable," 
which  made  such  an  impression  on  the  public  mind,  that 
the  noble  sum  of  twelve  thousand  dollars  was  quickly  sub- 
scribed. With  this  the  trustees  bought  a  lot,  and  finished  one 
wing  of  their  hospital,  for  immediate  use.  On  the  foundation 
stone  is  to  be  seen  the  following  inscription  by  Dr.  Franklin* 

"In  the  year  of  Christ  MDCCLV, 
George  the  Second,  happily  reigning, 
Tor  he  sought  the  HAPPINESS  OF  HIS  PEOPLE,) 
Philadelphia  flourishing, 
(For  its  inhabitants  were  public  spirited,) 
This  Building 
By  the  bounty  of  the  Government 
And  of  many  private  persons 
Was  piously  founded 
For  the  relief  of  the  sick  and  miserable. 
MAY  THE  GOD  OF  MERCIES  BLESS  THE 
UNDERTAKING!" 

36 


182 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Never  did  benevolence  put  up  an  ejaculation  more  fer- 
vent. And  never  was  one  more  signally  answered.  Indeed 
the  blessings  of  heaven  have  been  so  signally  showered  on  this 
excellent  charity,  that  it  now  forms  one  of  brightest  orna- 
ments of  the  fairest  city  in  America,  presenting  to  the 
delighted  eye  of  humanity  a  noble  front,  of  elevation  and 
extent  far  beyond  that  of  Solomon's  temple,  even  a  royal 
range  of  buildings,  two  and  three  stories  high,  two  hundred 
and  seventy-eight  feet  long,  and  forty  wide,  containing  about 
one  hundred  and  thirty  spacious  well-aired  rooms,  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  sick,  wounded,  and  lunatic  of  every 
description;  affectionately  waited  on  by  skilful  physicians 
and  active  nurses;  comforted  by  refreshing  baths  both  hot 
and  cold;  and  abundantly  supplied  with  the  best  loaf  bread, 
nice  vegetables,  fresh  meats,  soups,  wines  and  medicines. 

And  while  other  parts  of  the  city  have  been  very  sickly; 
and  especially  in  the  summer  of  1793,  when  no  fewer  than 
4000  persons  perished  of  the  yellow  fever,  Lot  a  single  case 
of  disease  occurred  in  this  hospital.  The  destroying  angel 
as  he  passed  along,  smelt  the  odour  of  that  precious  grace 
(charity)  which  embalmed  the  building,  and  let  fall  his 
avenging  sword. 

Gentlemen  travellers  falling  sick  in  Philadelphia,  will 
please  be  informed  of  this  famous  hospital,  that  if  they  wish 
excellent  physicians,  experienced  nurses,  pleasant  chambers, 
pure  air,  and  sweet  retirement,  they  may  here  have  all  those 
of  the  first  quality  at  half  price;  and  even  that  a  donation 
to  the  Institution. 


CHAPTER  XXXV11I. 

Dr.  Franklin,  about  this  time,  1756,  commenced  his  po 
iitical  career. 

When  we  see  some  peerless  Childers,  (whose  figure  almost 
proves  the  divinity  of  matter,  and  who  in  matchless  speed 
leaves  the  stormy  winds  behind  him,)  bending  under  the 
weight  of  a  miller's  bag,  or  tugging  at  the  hames  of  some 
drunken  carman,  how  can  we  otherwise  than  mourn  such  a 
prostitution  of  excellences;  so  how  can  we  but  mourn,  when 
we  see  such  a  man  as  Franklin,  born  for  those  divine  arts 
which  widen  our  empire  over  nature,  and  multiply  a.  thou- 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


183 


sand -fold  the  comforts  of  life,  wasting  his  precious  time  in 
combatting;  the  unreasonable  claims  of  selfish  and  wicked 
man? 

This,  for  a  portion  of  his  eventful  life,  was  the  sad  destiny 
of  Dr.  Franklin.  Scarcely  had  he  passed  his  first  forty  years 
in  his  favourite  philosophical  labours,  equally  useful  to  the 
world,  and  delightful  to  himself,  when  he  was  at  once  stop- 
ped short — stopped  by  the  voice  of  public  gratitude.  The 
wise  and  virtuous  people  of  Pennsylvania,  chiefly  quakers, 
who  estimate  a  man,  not  by  the  fineness  of  his  coat,  but  the 
usefulness  of  his  life,  were  not  to  overlook  such  a  man  as 
Franklin.  His  astonishing  industry,  and  his  many  valuable 
inventions,  had  long  made  him  the  favourite  theme  of  their 
talk.  But  it  was  not  for  approbation  so  general  and  hearty, 
to  be  satisfied  with  mere  talk. 

What  shall  be  done  for  the  man  whom  the  people  delighteth 
to  honour  ?  was  the  question  in  every  circle.  God*  they  said, 
has  lighted  up  this  candle  for  our  use,  it  must  not  be  hid  under 
a  bushel  Let  it  be  placed  on  the  great  candlestick  of  the  na- 
tion^ the  legislature.  So  strong,  indeed,  was  the  public  feel- 
ing in  his  favour,  that  from  several  of  the  wards,  deputations 
were  appointed  to  w*  it  upon  him,  to  beg  he  would  serve  the 
city  as  their  representative  in  the  house  of  burgesses. 

The  sight  of  his  name  in  the  papers,  as  a  candidate  at  the 
next  election,  to  serve  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  gave  a  gene- 
ral joy.  Among  his  opponents  were  several  of  the  weal- 
thiest citizens,  who  had  long  served  as  representatives,  and 
whose  numerous  friends  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  their  being 
turned  out.  Great  exertions  were  made  on  both  sides;  and 
the  polls  were  uncommonly  crowded.  But  when  the  con- 
test came  to  issue,  it  was  found  that  the  Philadelphia  printer, 
and  son  of  the  good  old  psalm-singing  Boston  tallow-chan- 
dler, carried  the  day  with  great  ease. 

O  ye  simple  ones,  how  long  will  you  love  simplicity!  you,  1 
mean,  who  can  once  a  year  look  sweetly  on  your  constitu- 
ents, and  once  a  year  invite  them  to  barbacues,  and  make 
them  drunk  with  whiskey,  thus  ignobly  begging  those 
votes  which  you  feel  you  have  not  the  sense  to  deserve,  O 
learn  from  this  your  great  countryman,  wherein  consists  the 
true  art  of  electioneering;  not  in  ignoble  tricks  like  these, 
to  court  the  little,  but  in  high  qualifications,  like  Dr.  Frank- 
lin's, to  be  courted  by  the  great. 

The  exalted  expectations  formed  of  him.  by  the  public 
were  not  disappointed.    Heartily  a  lover  of  man  and  the 


184 


THE  LIFE  OF 


friend  of  equal  rights,  he  had  scarcely  taken  his  seat  in  the 
legislature  before  he  had  to  turn  the  torrent  of  his  honest 
indignation  against  the  proprietaries  and  their  creatures  the 
Governors. 

The  reader  will  please  here  be  reminded  that  in  the  year 
1680,  that  great  good  man,  William  Penn,  a  quaker,  was 
paid  off  a  large  claim  against  Charles  II.  of  England,  by  a 
grant  of  lands  in  North  America.  To  make  the  best  of  a 
bad  bargain,  honest  William  gathered  together  a  caravan  of 
his  poor  persecuted  brethren,  and  taking  ship  came  over  to 
North  America. 

.  The  good  angel  that  guided  the  steps  of  pious  Jacob  as 
he  sojourned  from  Padan-aram  to  the  land  Uz,  seeking  a 
rest,  guided  Penn  and  his  gentle  followers  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Delaware  bay.  lie  followed  the  stately  flood  in  all  its 
wanderings  anions  the  green  marshes  and  forests  of  the  new 
found  world,  until  he  reached  the  pleasant  spot  where  now 
Philadelphia  stands.  The  majestic  grove  that  shaded  the 
extended  level  on  the  western  bank,  bordered  on  the  back 
by  the  beautiful  serpentine  river  called  by  the  natives,  the 
Schuylkill,  struck  his  eye  as  a  fine  site  for  his  future  city. 

Abhorring  the  idea  of  killing  his  fellow  men,  the  poor  na- 
tives, and  taking  away  their  lands,  he  sent  around  among 
them  the  Calumet,  or  pipe  of  peace,  inviting  them  to  "  a 
friendly  talk."  Painted  in  red  ochre,  and  decked  in  all 
tiie  savage  pomp  of  wild  skins  and  feathers,  the  kings  of  the 
soil  with  all  their  simple  tribes  assemoled  themselves  to- 
gether. The  meeting  was  in  the  summer  of  1681,  under  the 
trees  near  the  margin  of  the  great  river.  The  scene  was 
lovely  to  the  eye  of  humanity.  The  red  and  white  men 
from  different  continents  were  seen  to  meet,  not  as  enemies 
for  mutual  slaughter,  but  as  brothers  for  loving  commerce. 
The  shores  were  covered  with  British  merchandize.  The 
eyes  of  the  simple  children  of  nature  sparkled  on  those 
rich  wares,  the  like  of  which  they  had  never  seen  before. 

Penn  gave  them  every  thing.  He  gave  them  precious 
axes  to  master  the  forests;  and  still  more  magic  guns  to 
master  the  wolves  and  panthers  He  gave  them  warm 
clothes  for  defence  against  the  cold,  and  plough-share*  and 
noes  for  plentiful  harvests.  In  return  they  gave  him  that 
large  tract  of  land  in  their  country,  which,  in  honour  of  this 
good  man,  has  been  called  Pennsylvania.  Instantly  the 
aged  forests  began  to  resound  with  the  strokes  of  axes  and 
the  crash  of  falling  trees.    And  the  corner  stone  was  laid  of 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


185 


the  new  city,  which,  with  great  propriety,  was  named  of 
Penn,  Philadelphia,  or  the  city  of  brotherly  love. 

Having  thus  laid  the  foundation  of  this  colony  in  justice 
to  the  poor  natives,  and  in  generosity  to  his  own  tol lowers 
in  the  great  cheapness  of  his  lands,  in  perfect  liberty  of 
conscience,  and  in  the  exceeding  moderation  of  his  govern- 
ment, this  wise  statesman  then  looked  to  God  for  his  bless- 
ings. Nor  did  he  look  in  vain.  The  fame  of  "Penn  Co- 
lony," resounded  throughout  Great  Britain.  An  immense 
emigration  were  quickly  on  their  way  to  Pennsylvania. 
The  young  city  grew  apace,  and  farms  and  fair  buildings  in 
the  country,  spread  in  every  direction  with  a  rapidity  une- 
qualled in  history. 

But  alas!  when  honest  William  fell  asleep,  there  rose 
after  hiin  a  race  of  heirs  "  who  knew  not  Joseph  who  not 
content,  like  /urn,  with  modest  drab,  and  simple  dinners,  and 
aspiring  to  the  true  happiness  of  imitating  God  in  godlike 
loves  and  deeds,  basely  prostituted  their  hearts  to  carnal 
lusts  and  pride. 

The  worship  of  these  gods,  though  contemptible,  is  costly; 
and  to  these  wet-quaker  successors  of  the  good  William 
Penn,  nothing  promised  such  a  swelling  revenue  as  a  bold 
rise  in  the  price  of  their  lands.  And  in  this  pitiful  kind  of 
management  they  soon  gave  the  Pennsylvanians  to  under- 
stand that  like  Rehoboam  of  old,  "  their  little  fingers  ivere 
heavier  than  their  father's  loins"  I  have  not  been  able  to 
procure  any  thing  like  certainty  as  to  the  sum  that  good 
William  Penn  gave  to  the  natives  for  the  vast  tract  of  land 
he  purchased  of  them.  But  that  he  hardly  gave  at  the  rate  of 
a  hatchet  for  what  is  now  a  noble  farm,  may  be  very  fairly 
inferred.  In  1 754,  which  was  seventy  years  later  than  the 
first  purchase,  the  house  of  Penn  bought  of  the  Indians  seven 
millions  of  acres  lying  within  the  royal  grant.  And  what 
do  you  suppose  they  gave  for  it?  what  do  you  suppose  they 
gave  for  seven  millions  of  acres  of  rich,  heavy  timbered 
Pennsylvania  land?  why  not  quite  two  thousand  dollars! 
not  three  cents  the  hundred  acres!  And  what  do  you  sup- 
pose they  immediately  asked  for  it  ?  why  fifteen  pounds  ten 
shillings!  near  fifty  thousand  cents  per  hundred  acres!  And 
yet  with  such  a  bank  of  millions  in  hand  they  were  not 
willing  to  bear  their  part  of  the  taxes  for  public  good  ! ! 

Like  tlu3  starched  Pharisees  of  old,  they  could  throw 
neavy  weights  on  other  men's  shoulders,  but  not  suflfer  a  flv 
to  light  on  theirs  They  could  smile  when  they  saw  the 
16* 


186 


THE  LIFE  OF 


officer  going  round  with  his  ink  horn  and  pen,  noting  down 
the  poor  man's  paddock,  but  if  he  but  looked  at  their 
princely  manors  and  parks  they  would  make  the  whole  co- 
lony ring  with  it. 

Grown  beyond  calculation  rich  by  the  sales  and  rents  of 
their  lands  in  America,  they  scorned  the  country  of  theii 
illustrious  predecessor,  and  went  over  to  London,  where 
they  mimicked  the  pride  and  pageantry  of  princes. 

Thinking  they  did  the  obscure  Pennsylvanians  honour 
enough  to  govern  them  by  proxy,  they  washed  their  hands 
of  the  poor  colony  government,  and  sent  them  over  depu- 
ties. These  hirelings,  to  augment  their  salaries,  soon  com- 
menced a  course  of  oppressions  on  the  people,  whom  they 
treated  with  great  insolence. 

It  were  too  great  an  honour  to  those  wretches  to  set  the 
people  of  the  present  day  to  reading  their  insolent  messages 
to  the  legislature.  They  were  always,  however,  very  pro- 
perly chastised  by  Dr.  Franklin;  sometimes  in  the  columns 
of  his  own  popular  newspaper,  and  sometimes  in  the  assem- 
bly. Not,  indeed,  by  long  and  eloquent  orations,  for  which 
he  either  had  no  talent,  or  declined  it,  preferring  the  pithy 
and  pungent  anecdote  or  story,  which  was  always  so  admi- 
rably appropriate,  and  withal  so  keen  in  wit  and  truth,  that 
like  a  flash  from  his  own  lightning  rods,  it  never  failed  to 
demolish  the  fairest  fabric  of  sophistry,  and  cause  even  its 
greatest  admirers  to  blush  that  they  had  been  so  fascinated 
by  its  false  glare. 

In  1756,  he  was  appointed  deputy  post-master  general  for 
the  British  colonies.  It  is  asserted  that  in  his  hands,  the 
post-office  in  America  yielded  annually  thrice  as  much  as 
did  that  of  Ireland.  An  extraordinary  proof  of  our  passion 
for  reading  and  writing  beyond  the  Irish.  Perhaps  it  was 
owing  to  this  that  we  saved  our  liberties,  while  they  lost  theirs. 

Several  of  the  middle  colonies  suffering  much  at  this  time 
from  Indian  depredations  on  their  frontiers,  it  was  agreed 
among  them  to  send  commissioners  to  Albany  to  devise 
means  for  mutual  defence.  Dr.  Franklin,  commissioner  on 
the  part  of  Pennsylvania,  had  the  honour  to  draw  up  a  plan, 
which  was  thought  excellent.  Knowing  the  colonists  to  be 
the  best  marksmen  in  the  world,  and  supposing  it  infinitely 
safer  that  the  defence  of  their  own  firesides  should  be  en- 
trusted to  them  than  to  British  hirelings,  he  hajji  with  his 
•isual  sagacity  recommended  that  muskets  and  powdei 
should  be  put  into  their  hands. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


187 


Rut  when  nis  phn  was  presented  to  the  king  and  coun- 
for  ratification,  it  was  indignantly  rejected.  It  was 
thought  by  some  that  hardly  could  Satan  and  his  black  jani- 
saries  have  been  more  seriously  offended,  had  a  cargo  of 
Bibles  and  hymn  books  been  recommended  for  their  pande- 
monium. 

The  truth  is,  the  British  ministry  had  for  a  long  time  de 
pressed  the  unfortunate  Americans  into  mere  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water,  by  making  them  bring  all  their 
rich  produce  of  tobaccos,  furs,  &c.  to  English  ports,  and 
there  give  them  the  meanest  prices;  sometimes  a  penny,  and 
even  half  a  penny  a  pound  for  their  brightest  tobacco,  which 
they  would  the  next  hour  sell  to  the  Dutch  merchants  for 
two  shillings  a  pound.  To  preserve  such  a  trade  as  this,  as 
lord  Howe  ingenuously  confessed,  from  going  into  any  other 
channel,  was  a  grand  object  to  the  ministry.  But  this  the}' 
could  not  long  count  on,  if  the  Americans  were  furnished 
with  muskets,  cannon,  and  powder.  They  therefore,  very 
prudently,  determined  to  leave  Or,  Franklin's  excellent 
marksmen  out  of  the  question,  aiui  confide  to  their  own 
creatures  the  protection  of  a  country  whose  trade  could  so 
well  repay  them  for  it. 

But  their  folly  in  preferring  such  troops  was  soon  made 
evident,  as  Franklin  had  predicted.  In  the  spring  of  1755, 
two  thousand  veterans,  the  elite  of  the  British  military, 
were  sent  over  to  drive  the  French  from  the  Ohio.  One  half 
that  number  of  Virginia  riflemen  would  have  done  the  busi- 
ness completely.  But  such  was  the  ministerial  jealousy  of 
the  American  riflemen,  and  so  great  their  dread  to  embody 
and  arm  that  kind  of  troops,  that  they  permitted  no  more 
than  three  companies  to  join  the  army.  And  even  these 
were  so  ludicrously  scrimped  up  by  governor  Dinwiddie, 
in  jackets  scarcely  reaching  to  their  waists,  that  they  be- 
came a  mere  laughing  stock  of  the  British  army,  who  nevei 
called  them  by  any  other  name  than  the  "  Virginia  short 
rumps.''  Many  believed  that  this  was  done  purposely,  that 
by  being  thus  constantly  laughed  at,  they  might  be  cowed 
thereby,  and  be  led  to  think  meanly  of  themselves,  as  quite 
an  inferior  sort  of  beings  to  the  mighty  English.  But 
blessed  be  God  whose  providence  always  takes  part  with 
the  oppressed.  A  few  short  weeks  only  elapsed  when  this 
motley  army  was  led,  by  an  incautious  commander,  into  a 
faui  ambuscade  of  the  French  and  Indians — general  Brad- 
dock,  at  the  head  of  his  2000  British  veterans,  and  young 


188 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Geoige  Washington  at  the  head  of  his  two  hundred  *  Vir- 
ginia short  rumps."  Then  was  displayed  the  soundness  of 
Dr.  Franklin's  judgment,  in  the  wide  difference,  as  to  self- 
possession  and  hard  fighting,  between  these  two  kind  of 
troops. 

The  conceited  Englishmen  behaved  no  better  than  wild 
turkies;  while  the  despised  "  Virginia  short  rumps"  fought 
like  lions,  and  had  the  glory  of  saving  the  wreck  of  the 
British  army. 

This  sad  defeat  had  like  to  have  ruined  doctor  Franklin, 
by  whose  credit  with  the  Pennsylvanians,  colonel  Dunbar 
of  the  rear  guard  of  his  army,  had  been  furnished  with 
fifty  wagons,  which  were  all  burnt  on  the  retreat.  His  es- 
cape from  this  danger  was  owing  to  the  generosity  of  gover- 
nor Shirley,  who  learning  that  Franklin  had  incurred  this 
debt  on  account  of  the  British  government,  undertook  to 
discharge  it. 

Seeing  no  end  to  the  vexation  and  expense  brought  on 
the  colony  by  those  selfish  beings,  the  proprietaries,  the 
assembly  came  at  length,  to  the  resolution  to  petition  the 
king  to  abolish  the  proprietary  government,  and  take  the 
colony  under  his  own  care.  Doctor  Franklin  was  appointed 
to  the  honour  of  presenting  this  petition  to  his  majesty 
George  II.  and  sailed  for  England,  June,  1757. 

Learning  at  last  that  by  obstinately  contending  for  too 
much,  they  might  possibly  lose  all,  the  proprietaries  signi- 
fied to  doctor  Franklin  a  willingness  that  their  land  should 
be  taxed. 

After  the  completion  of  this  important  business,  Franklin 
remained  at  the  court  of  Great  Britain  as  agent  for  the  pro- 
vince of  Pennsylvania.  The  extensive  knowledge  which  he 
possessed  of  the  situation  of  the  colonies  and  the  regard  which 
he  always  manifested  for  their  interests,  occasioned  his  ap- 
pointment to  the  same  oflice  by  the  colonies  of  Massachusetts, 
Maryland  and  Georgia. 

He  had  now  an  opportunity  of  visiting  those  illustrious 
Englishmen,  whom  his  useful  writings  and  discoveries  had 
strongly  bound  to  him,  though  they  had  never  seen  his  face. 
The  high  opinion  which  they  had  formed  of  him  at  a  dis- 
tance, was  greatly  increased  by  a  personal  acquaintance. 

Such  vastness  of  mind  with  such  sweetness  of  spirit  and 
simplicity  of  manners,  formed  a  spectacle  as  rare  as  it  was 
lovely.  And  as  a  proof  that  superior  sense  and  superior 
benevolence  will  always  prevail  against  prejudice,  he  w  is 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  189 

ow  courted  by  those  learned  societies  who  formerly  affect- 
ed to  deride  his  discoveries  in  philosophy  and  electricity. 
The  Royal  Society  of  London,  which  had  at  first  refused  his 
performances  admission  into  its  transactions,  now  deemed  it 
an  honour  to  class  him  among  its  fellows.  The  universities 
of  St.  Andrews,  of  Edinburgh,  and  Oxford,  conferred  on 
him  the  degree  of  doctor  of  laws;  and  the  most  distinguished 
philosophers  of  Europe  sought  his  correspondence.  In  read- 
ing his  letters  to  those  great  men,  we  are  at  a  loss  which 
most  to  admire,  the  majesty  of  his  sense,  or  the  simplicity 
of  his  style.  While  in  England,  which  was  from  July. 
1757,  to  July,  '62,  he  suggested  to  the  British  ministry  the 
duty  of  dispossessing  the  French  of  that  great  country  on 
the  north  of  our  colonies  called  Canada.  To  this  end,  he 
published  his  famous  Canada  pamphlet,  exhibiting  in  strong 
colours  the  many  mischiefs  and  murders  committed  on  his 
countrymen,  even  in  times  of  peace,  by  the  Indians  in  French 
pay.  This  little  tract  served  to  rouse  the  British  nation  to 
the  pitch  he  desired. 

An  army  of  English  regulars  and  New-England  militia 
were  sent  under  the  command  of  general  Wolfe,  who  pre- 
sently succeeded  in  driving  the  French  out  of  a  fine  country, 
of  which,  by  their  cruelties,  they  had  rendered  themselves, 
utterly  unworthy. 

About  this  time  the  celebrated  doctor  Cullen,  of  Scotland, 
made  some  curious  discoveries  in  the  art  of  producing  cold 
by  evaporation.  Hoping  that  the  genius  of  Franklin  might 
throw  some  lights  on  this  dawning  science,  a  friend  of  doc- 
tor C alien's  wrote  a  statement  of  the  facts  to  Franklin. 
The  American  philosopher,  though  now  immersed  in  politi- 
cal pursuits,  took  a  little  leisure  to  repeat  doctor  Cullen's 
experiments  on  cold,  which  he  so  improved  as  easily  to  pro- 
duce ice  in  the  dog  days.  But  it  was  one  of  those  dis- 
coveries, which,  as  he  says,  he  never  valued,  because  it  was 
too  expensive  to  be  of  general  utility. 

About  the  autumn  of  1761,  he  rendered  himself  prodi- 
giously popular  among  the  ladies  in  London,  by  completing 
that  sweet  toned  little  instrument  of  music,  the  Harmonica. 

I  have  been  told  that  his  fame  at  court  on  this  account, 
so  awakened  the  recollection  of  George  III.  that  he  caused 
it  to  be  signified  to  Dr.  Franklin,  that  he  felt  a  disposition 
to  "do  something  for  Aim."  Our  philosopher  replied,  that 
he  wanted  nothing  for  himself,  but — that,  he  had  a  son  in 
Jlmerica.    The  king  took  the  hints  and  immediately  made 


190 


THE  LIFE  OF 


uut  a  commission  of  "  Governor  of  his  colony  of  New  Jersey^ 
for  his  beloved  subject,  Temple  Franklin,  Esq."  On  such 
small  things  are  the  fortunes  of  men  sometimes  founded ! 

Doctor  Franklin  was  now  become  so  great  a  favourite 
that  the  people  of  all  classes  seemed  to  take  a  pride  in  talk- 
ing of  him,  and  his  savings,  insomuch  that  not  a  word  of  the 
brilliant  sort  could  fall  from  his  lips  but  it  was  sure  to  be 
caught  up  instantly  and  re-echoed  through  every  circle,  from 
proud  St.  James  to  humble  St.  Giles.  The  following  im- 
promptu made  a  great  noise  in  London  about  this  time. 

One  evening  in  a  large  party  at  his  friend  Vaughan's  he 
was,  laughingly,  challenged  by  a  very  beautiful  girl,  a  Miss 
Gun,  to  make  her  a  couplet  of  verses  extempore.  Well, 
madam,  replied  he,  with  great  gallantry,  since  every  body  is 
offering  a  tribute  to  your  graces,  let  me  tender  the  following: 

"  Cupid  now  to  ensure  his  fun, 
Quits  his  bow  and  takes  to  gun." 

This  handsome  play  on  her  name  instantly  suffused  the 
cheeks  of  Miss  Gun  with  celestial  roses,  making  her  look 
much  more  like  an  angel  than  before. 

I  mention  this  merely  to  show  what  an  extraordinary 
mind  that  man  must  have  possessed,  who  with  such  equal 
ease,  could  play  the  Newton  or  the  Chesterfield,  and  charm 
alike  the  lightnings  and  the  ladies. 

In  the  summer  of  1762,  he  took  leave  of  ;iis  friends  in 
England  to  return  to  his  native  country.  On  his  voyage  he 
discovered  in  oil  or  grease  thrown  on  the  water,  a  property, 
which  few  people  ever  dreamt  of.  When  we  learn  of  gold 
that  it  may  by  beating,  be  expanded  into  a  leaf  of  such  in- 
credible fineness,  that  a  guinea  might  in  that  way  be  made 
to  cover  Solomon's  temple,  or  deck  Noah's  ark,  we  are 
filled  with  wonder  of  such  a  metal.  Doctor  Franklin  tells 
us  of  equal  wonders  in  oil.  He  informs  us,  that  a  wine 
glass  full  of  pure  oil  poured  on  a  mill  pond,  will  presently 
spread  over  it,  with  a  film  inconceivably  thinner  than  a  cob- 
web, and  so  adhesive  that  the  winds  shall  not  excite  it  to 
mad-caps  and  breakers.  Hence,  he  infers,  that  oil  might  be 
made  a  mean  of  saving  ships  during  a  violent  storm  at  sea. 

In  this  voyage  he  made  also  another  discovery,  which 
ought  to  be  known  to  all  going  by  sea,  viz.  that  if  persons 
perishing  of  thirst  on  a  voyage,  would  but  bathe  half  a 
dozen  times  a  day  in  the  sea  water,  which  they  easily  might, 
by  using  tb'HF  empty  water  casks  as  bathing  tubs,  they 
would  obtain  great  relief  from  their  thirst,  and  live  several 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


193 


he  to  the  govern  r,  66 has  no  subjects  in  all  Ins  wide  do- 
minions, who  more  heartily  love  him  than  do  his  American 
subjects.  Nor  do  there  exist  on  earth,  the  Englishmen  who 
hold  more  dear  the  glory  of  old  England  than  they  do. 
Hut  the  same  spirit  ot  their  gallant  forefathers,  which  makes 
them  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives  and  fortunes,  in  a  con- 
stitutional way,  for  their  king  and  country,  will  for  ever 
secure  them  from  being  slaves.  We  exult,  sir,  in  the  recol- 
lection, that  of  all  the  governments  on  earth,  that  of  Great 
Britain  has  long  been  the  freest;  and  that  more  blood  has 
been  shed  for  freedom's  sake  in  England  in  one  week,  than 
on  the  whole  continent  for  fifty  years.  Now,  on  the  bright 
face  of  that  government,  the  first  and  fairest  feature  is  this 
that  no  king  can  touch  a  penny  belonging  to  the  poorest  sub 
ject,  without  his  own  consent,  by  his  representative  in  par- 
liament. For,  if,  say  they,  6  a  king  can  at  pleasure  take  ow 
money,  he  can  take  every  thing  else;  since  with  that  he  can 
easily  hire  soldiers  to  rob,  and  then  murder  us  if  we  but 
open  our  lips  against  him. '  As  Americans  glory  in  being 
Englishmen  on  the  western  side  of  the  Atlantic,  they  very 
naturally  claim  the  common  right  of  Englishmen,  not  to  be 
taxed  without  their  own  consent,  by  their  representatives  in 
parliament.  But  the  British  ministry,  though  they  obsti- 
nately refuse  to  the  Americans  the  sacred  rights  of  repre- 
sentation, yet  as  wickedly  insist  on  the  right  of  taxation  ; 
and  accordingly  have  brought  into  parliament  the  famous 
stamp  act  bill,  whereby  no  business  that  requires  a  record  on 
paper,  as  deeds,  bonds,  wills,  marriages,  fyc.  can  be  legally 
done  but  on  paper  that  has  received  the  royal  stamp.  Now, 
sir,  you  well  know  that  the  same  minister  who  proposes  this 
most  iniquitous  and  unconstitutional  act,  would  not  dare 
propose  to  any  the  most  drunken  tavern-keeper  in  England, 
a  farthing  tax  on  a  pot  of  his  ale  without  the  consent  of  his 
representative  in  parliament;  and  yet,  without  being  allowed 
a  hearing  in  parliament,  three  millions  of  free-born  Ameri- 
cans, sons  of  Englishmen,  are  to  be  taxed  at  the  pleasure  of 
a  distant  minister!  Not,  honoured  sir,  that  the  Americans 
care  a  fig  for  the  pence  imposed  on  this  bit  of  stamp  paper, 
but  for  the  principle.  For  they  well  know  that  if  parlia- 
ment claim  a  right  to  take  from  us  a  penny  in  the  pound, 
there  is  no  line  drawn  to  bound  that  right;  and  what  shall 
hinder  their  calling  whenever  they  please  for  the  other 
nineteen  shillings  and  eleven  pence?  And  besides,  sir, 
where  is  the  necessity  for  this  most  degrading  measure  ? 

17 


194 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Have  not  the  Americans  ever  shown  themselves  the  warmest 
friends  of  their  king  and  country?  Have  they  not,  in  aU 
cases  of  danger,  most  readily  voted  both  their  men  and  mo 
ney  to  the  full  extent  of  their  means,  and  sometimes  fai 
beyond  ? 

"  And  in  addition  to  all  this,  are  they  not  daily  paying 
large  monies  in  secret  taxes  to  Great  Britain  ? 

66  I.  We  are  not  permitted  to  trade  with  foreign  nations! 
All  the  difference  in  the  price  of  what  we  could  buy  cheaper 
from  them,  but  must  buy  dearer  from  Britain,  is  a  clear  tax 
to  Britain. 

" II.  We  are  obliged  to  carry  our  produce  to  Britain! 
All  that  it  sells  for  less  there  than  it  would  in  any  other 
market,  is  a  clear  tax  to  Britain. 

All  the  manufactures  that  we  could  make,  but 
are  forbidden  and  must  buy  of  British  merchants,  is  a  clear 
tax  to  Britain. 

"  And  what  freeborn  Englishman  can,  without  indignation, 
think  of  being  so  daringly  defrauded  of  his  birthright,  that 
if  he  wants  a  pipe  of  good  wine,  he  cannot  go  to  the  island 
of  Madeira  and  get  it  on  easy  exchange  for  his  bread  stuff, 
and  return  at  once  to  his  home  and  business;  but  must  go  a 
thousand  miles  farther  from  his  family,  even  to  Great  Bri- 
tain, and  there  run  the  gauntlet,  through  so  many  ruinous 
charges,  as  to  bring  his  wine  up  to  almost  double  what  it 
ought  to  have  cost  ?  And  all  this  most  flagrant  injustice 
done  to  the  whole  people  of  the  colonies,  just  to  enrich  half 
a  dozen  British  merchants  engaged  in  the  Portugal  wine  trade! 

"  A  similar  outrage  on  another  of  the  dearest  rights  of 
Englishmen,  i.  e.  ;  to  make  the  most  that  they  honestly  can  of 
their  property,'  is  committed  on  the  British  subjects  in 
America,  for  the  sake  of  favouring  a  few  hatters  and  nail 
makers  in  England.  No  country  on  the  globe,  furnishes 
better  iron  or  better  beaver  than  does  North  America.  But  the 
Americans  must  not  make  a  hob-nail  or  a  felt  hat  for  them- 
selves. No;  they  must  send  all  their  iron  and  fur  to 
England  for  the  hatters  and  nail  makers  there;  who  may 
givs  them  their  own  price  for  the  raw  materials,  and  ask 
their  own  price  for  the  manufactures. 

«  All  that  a  wise  government  wishes,  is,  that  the  people 
should  be  numerous  and  wealthy  enough  to  fight  the  battles 
of  their  country,  and  to  pay  the  faxes.  But  they  care  not  so 
much  whether  the  fighting  be  done  by  John  or  Thomas,  or 
the  tax  paid  by  William  or  Charles. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


195 


"What  imports  it  to  the  government,  whether  a  mer- 
chant, a  smith,  or  a  hatter,  grows  rich  in  Old  England  or 
New  England?  And  if,  through  increase  of  the  people, 
two  smiths  are  wanted  for  one  employed  before,  why  may 
not  the  new  smith  be  allowed  to  live  and  thrive  in  the  new 
country,  as  well  as  the  old  in  the  old?  In  short,  why  should 
the  countenance  of  a  state  be  partially  afforded  to  its  people, 
unless  it  be  most  in  favour  of  those  who  have  most  merit?" 

The  whig  papers  in  London  soon  got  this  letter,  and  laid 
it  before  the  public. 

Among  a  high-minded  people  like  the  British,  who  pride 
themselves  in  their  love  of  liberty  and  their  perfect  scorn  of 
fold  play,  such  sentiments  could  not  be  read  without  the 
liveliest  emotions.  And  though  some,  the  ministerial  junto 
ror  example,  with  the  merchants  and  manufacturers,  did  not 
ike  such  plain  truths,  yet  the  nation  in  general  gave  him 
great  credit  both  for  his  singular  honesty  and  abilities;  and  the 
name  of  Dr.  Franklin  became  very  dear  to  thousands  of 
the  most  enlightened  and  virtuous  patriots  of  Britain. 

But  the  pleasure  of  admiration  was  dashed  with  fear,  that 
the  minister  would  suffer  no  good  to  be  done  to  the  nation 
by  all  this  divine  counsel,  merely  because  the  giver  was  not 
an  Englishman. 

The  lights,  however,  which  Dr.  Franklin  had  thrown  on 
this  great  subject,  were  pressed  upon  the  minister  with  such 
courage  by  numbers  of  honest  English  writers,  that  he  pru- 
dently delayed  ordering  the  collection  of  the  tax  until  he 
could  get  further  information.  It  was  not  long  before  an 
opportunity  was  offered  him  to  obtain  this  information  in  a  way 
highly  complimentary  to  Dr.  Franklin,  i.  e.  by  summoning 
him,  then  in  London  as  colony  agent  from  Pennsylvania, 
February  2,  1766,  to  appear  before  the  Bar  of  the  British 
House  of  Commons,  to  answer  certain  questions,  fyc. 

The  next  day,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Strahan,  afterwards 
member  of  parliament,  with  several  illustrious  Englishmen, 
his  warm  friends,  he  went  to  the  house.  The  concourse  was 
immense.  To  see  Dr.  Franklin — the  American,  whose  phi- 
losophical discoveries  and  political  writings  had  filled  the 
world  with  his  name,  excited  universal  curiosity.  The  gal- 
leries were  filled  with  ladies  of  the  first  distinction,  and 
every  seat  below  was  occupied  by  the  members  from  the 
house  of  lords.  At  ten  o'clock  he  appeared  at  the  bar  be- 
fore the  eager  waiting  crowd.  The  profound  est  silence  en- 
sued.   Al)  eyes  were  fixed  on  him;  and,  from  their  deep 


TFIE  LIFE  OF 


regard,  it  appeared,  that  though  they  beheld  no  stars  noi 
garters  glittering  on  his  breast,  no  burning  velvets  nor 
flaming  diamonds  adorning  his  person,  yet  they  were  not 
disappointed.  They  beheld  a  spectacle  still  more  inter- 
esting and  novel. — The  spectacle  of  a  man  whose  simple 
dress  evinced  that  he  asked  no  aid  of  the  tailor  and  silk- 
worm to  recommend  him,  but  stood  solely  on  the  majesty 
of  his  mind.  The  hour  for  examination  being  come,  and 
the  attendant  officer  beckoning  him  thereto,  he  arose — 

And  in  his  rising  seemed  a  pillar  of  state — deep  on  his 
brow  engraven  deliberation  sat  and  public  care.  His  looks 
drew  audience  and  attention  still  as  night,  or  summer's 
noontide  air." 

Who  can  paint  the  looks  of  the  minister,  as  with  darkly 
scowling  eye-balls,  he  beheld  this  terror  of  aristocracy!  or 
who  can  paint  the  noble  lorolings,  as  lost  in  equal  stare, 
they  gazed  and  gazed  at  the  wondrous  American,  forgetting 
the  while,  "  to  quiz"  as  they  were  wont,  '"his  homespun 
coat  and  simple  shoe-strings. 99 

But  never  did  the  mind-illumined  looks  of  man  shine 
more  divinely  bright  than  did  those,  that  day,  of  the  gene- 
rous Barry,  the  godlike  Chatham,  and  the  high-minded 
Dunning,  when  they  beheld  the  noble  form  of  Franklin. 
Though  born  in  North  America,  he  shines  before  their  eyes 
as  a  true  born  son  of  Britain — the  luminous  and  brave  inter- 
preter of  her  sacred  constitution,  and  the  wise  politician 
who  seeks  to  exalt  her  glory,  lasting  as  the  skies,  on  the  broad 
base  of  impartial  justice  to  all  her  children.  With  eyes 
sparkling  with  esteem  unutterable,  they  hail  him  as  a  bro- 
ther; and  breathe  the  ardent  wish  that  in  the  impending  ex- 
amination he  may  succeed  in  diverting  the  minister  from 
that  unconstitutional  course  which  may  involve  the  ruin 
both  of  England  and  America. 

The  moment  for  trial  being  come,  and  the  minister  giving 
the  signal  to  begin,  the  speaker  thus  commenced: — 

Q.  What  is  your  name  and  place  of  abode  ? 

A.  Franklin,  of  Philadelphia. 

Here  followed  nearly  three  hundred  questions  and  answers^ 
which  were  once  read  with  exceeding  interest  by  men,  wo- 
men, and  children  in  America.  But  as  they  turn  altogether 
on  that  great  quarrel  which  the  British  ministry  formerly 
excited  in  this  country;  and  which  God,  to  his  endless  glory, 
was  pleased  to  put  asleep  in  our  favour  near  half  a  century 
ago,  then  let  all  these  questions  and  answers  lie  asleep  with 


D\l.  FRANKLIN. 


197 


it.  However,  it  is  but  justice  to  Dr.  Franklin  to  observe, 
that  when  we  consider  these  questions,  what  a  wide  range 
they  take  both  of  the  British  and  American  relations  and  in- 
terests— together  with  the  luminous,  prompt,  and  decisive 
manner  in  which  they  were  solved,  we  are  lost  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  extent  of  his  information  and  the  powers  of  his 
mind,  and  are  almost  tempted  to  believe  that  the  answers, 
and  not  the  questions  must  have  been  studied  with  the  nicest 
discrimination  of  circumstances. 

Charles  Fox,  an  honest  Englishman,  and  an  excellent  judge 
in  these  matters,  being  asked  his  opinion  of  Dr.  Franklin 
and  the  ministers  in  the  late  examination,  replied,  in  his 
strong  way,  "  Dwarfs,  sir,  mere  dwarfs  in  the  hand  of  a 
giant!" 

Edmund  Burke  used  to  say,  that  this  examination  of  Dr. 
Franklin  before  the  ministers,  always  put  him  in  mind  of  a 
w  Master  examined  before  a  parcel  of  school-boys  " 

But  though  his  abilities  cn  this  occasion  excited  the  admi- 
ration of  generous  enemies,  while  his  more  partial  friends 
set  no  bounds  to  their  praise,  yet  it  would  appear  from  the 
following  that  all  afforded  him  but  little  pleasure.  In  a 
letter  to  a  friend  in  Philadelphia,  he  has  these  remarkable 
words:  w  You  have,  no  doubt,  heard  that  I  have  been  ex- 
amined before  the  House  of  Commons  in  this  country. 
And  it  is  probable  you  have  also  been  told  that  I  did  not 
entirely  disappoint  the  expectations  of  my  friends,  nor  be- 
tray the  cause  of  truth.  This,  to  be  sure,  gives  me  some 
pleasure;  and,  indeed  it  is  the  only  thing  that  does;  for,  as 
to  any  good  being  done  by  my  honest  statement  to  minis- 
ters, of  what  I  firmly  believe  to  be  the  best  interests  of  die 
two  countries,  'tis  all,  I  fear,  a  lost  hope.  The  people  of 
this  country  are  too  proud,  and  too  much  despise  the  poor 
Americans,  to  allow  them  the  common  rights  of  Englishmen^ 
that  is,  a  representation  in  parliament.  And  until  this  be 
done,  I  apprehend  that  no  taxes  laid  by  parliament,  will  ever 
be  collected,  but  such  as  must  be  stained  with  blood.  How 
lamentable  it  is  that  two  people,  sprung  frrom  the  same 
origin,  speaking  the  same  language,  governed  by  the  same 
laws,  and  worshipping  at  the  same  altar  of  God,  and  capa- 
ble, by  a  wise  use  of  the  extraordinary  means  he  has  now 
put  into  their  hands,  of  becoming  the  greatest  nation  on 
earth,  should  be  stopped  short  and  perhaps  reduced  to  in- 
significance by  a  civil  war,  kindled  by  ministers  obstinately 
contending  for  what  thev  cannot  but  know  to  be  utterly  uu 
17* 


198 


THE  LIFE  OK 


constitutional  and  eternally  inadmissible  among  the  free-barn 
so?is  of  Englishmen.  But  1  suppose  the  repeal  will  not 
now  be  agreed  to,  from  what  I  think  a  mistaken  opinion, 
that  the  honour  and  dignity  of  government  are  better  sup- 
ported by  persisting  in  a  wrong  measure,  once  entered 
into,  than  by  rectifying  an  error  as  soon  as  it  is  discovered.'" 
Differently,  however,  from  the  apprehensions  of  Franklin, 
the  stamp  act  was  repealed,  and  even  in  the  course  of  the 
same  year! 

But  though  so  little  expected  by  him,  yet  was  this  event 
ascribed,  in  a  great  measure,  to  Dr.  Franklin.  His  famous 
examination,  printed  in  a  shilling  pamphlet,  had  been  dis- 
tributed by  myriads  throughout  Britain  and  America.  In 
America  it  served  to  brighten  up  the  old  land  marks  of 
their  rights  as  free-born  sons  of  Englishmen,  and  to  quicken 
their  sensibilities  to  ministerial  frauds.  In  England,  it 
served  to  show  the  ignorance  of  the  ministers;  the  impolicy 
of  their  measures  towards  America;  and  the  utter  inexpe- 
diency of  the  stamp  act.  The  stamp  act  of  course  fell  to 
the  ground.  The  reader,  if  a  good  man,  exults,  no  doubt, 
in  this  as  a  most  fortunate  event,  and  already  hails  this  re- 
moval of  strife,  as  a  certain  prelude  to  that  return  of  love 
between  the  mother  country  and  her  colonies,  which  will 
make  them  both,  glorious  and  happy.  He  may  hope  it,  but 
alas!  he  is  never  to  see  the  accomplishment  of  that  good 
hope.  Death  is  whetting  his  scythe;  and  civil  wars  and 
slaughters  are  now  just  as  near  at  hand  as  though  the  stamp 
act  had  never  been  repealed.  For  a  pamphlet  in  some  popu- 
lar style  that  should  unrip  the  black  budget  of  ministerial 
injustice  and  lay  naked  to  view  the  causes  of  the  coming 
war;  that  unnatural  war  that  is  to  sever  England  and  her 
colonies  for  ever!  Brighter  than  a  thousand  sermons  it 
would  illustrate  to  politicians  that  "  the  Lord  is  King" — 
that  the  sole  end  of  his  government,  is  to  glorify  himself  in 
the  happiness  of  his  creatures — that  thereunto  he  hath 
established  his  throne  in  justice — the  eternal  justice  of  men 
"  doing  unto  others  as  they  would  that  others  should  do  unto 
them  "  and  that  none,  however  great,  shall  ever  violate  this 
blessed  order  with  impunity.  The  British  ministry  are  des- 
tined to  illustrate  this.  They  are  fond  of  power — to  pre 
serve  this,  they  must  continue  in  place — in  order  thereunto 
they  must  please  the  merchants  and  manufacturers — to  ac- 
complish this  they  must  favour  their  trade  and  lighten  their 
taxes.    And  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?'  why,  by  a  little  pecca- 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


tlillo  of  injustice.  They  have  only  to  sweat  the  "convicts 
on  their  American  plan' ations," — the  rascals  live  a  great 
way  off,  and  have  no  representative  in  parliament  to  make  a 
noise  about  it.  Accordingly,  soon  as  the  Americans  were 
supposed  to  have  gotten  a  little  over  their  fever  about  the 
stamp  act,  the  minister,  lord  North,  of  famous  memory,  de- 
termined to  try  them  again.  However  it  was  but  a  small 
affair  now—only  a  three  penny  excise  on  the  pound  of  tea. 

When  Dr.  Franklin,  our  ARGUS,  then  in  London,  dis- 
covered the  designs  of  minister  North,  he  exerted  himself 
to  point  that  purblind  gentleman  to  the  horrible  gulf  that 
was  yawning  at  his  feet.  He  wrote  letters  to  several  mem- 
bers of  parliament,  his  friends;  and  he  published  a  number 
of  luminous  pieces  in  the  patriotic  gazettes,  all  admirably 
calculated  to  rouse  the  friends  of  the  nation  to  a  sense  of  the 
impending  dangers. 

In  three  letters  to  the  honourable  Mr.  W.  Strahan,  he 
has,  in  the  extract,  these  remarkable  words: — 

"London,  November,  1768. 

"Dear  Sir, 

"  With  respect  to  the  present  dispute  between  Great  Bri- 
tain and  the  colonies,  there  is  nothing  I  wish  Lor  more  than 
to  see  it  amicably  settled.  But  Providence  brings  about  its 
own  ends  by  its  own  means;  and  if  it  intends  the  downfall 
of  a  nation,  that  nation  will  be  so  blinded  by  its  pride  and 
other  passions  as  not  to  see  its  danger,  or  how  its  fall  may 
be  prevented. 

"  The  friends  of  the  ministry  say  that  this  tax  is  but  a 
trifle  ;  granted.  But  who  does  not  see  what  will  be  the  con- 
sequence of  submitting  to  it  ?  Is  it  not  the  more  danger- 
ous for  being  a  trifle  ?  Is  it  not  in  this  way  that  the  devil 
himself  most  effectually  works  our  ruin  ?  If  he  can  but 
prevail  on  a  poor  thoughtless  youth  to  shake  hands  with  in- 
nocence, and  to  steal,  he  is  abundantly  satisfied.  To  get 
the  boy's  hand  in,  is  all  he  wants.  And  he  would  as  lea\e 
the  simpleton  should  begin  with  stealing  a  halter  as  a  horse. 
For  he  well  knows  that  if  he  but  begins  with  the  one  he  is 
sure  to  end  with  the  other.  Just  so  the  minister,  angling  for 
American  liberty,  artfully  covers  his  hook  with  this  delicate 
bait.  But  the  truth  is,  I  have  talked  and  written  so  much 
and  so  long  on  the  subject  of  this  unhappy  quarrel,  that  my 
acquaintance  are  weary  of  hearing,  and  the  public  of  reatl 
ing,  any  more  of  it;  which  begins  to  make  me  weary  of 


200 


THE  LIFE  OF 


talking  and  writing;  especially  as  I  do  not  find  that  I  have 
gained  any  point  in  either  country,  except  that  of  rendering 
myself  suspected,  by  my  impartiality,  in  England  of  being 
too  much  an  American,  and  in  America  of  being  too  much 
an  Englishman.  However,  as  in  reply  to  your  polite  ques- 
tion, "  what  is  t9  be  done  to  settle  this  alarming  dispute?" 
I  have  often  told  you  what  I  think  the  minister  ought  to  do: 
I  now  go  a  step  farther,  and  tell  you  what  1  fear  he  will  do. 

"  I  apprehend  he  will,  ere  long,  attempt  to  enforce  this 
obnoxious  tax,  whatever  may  be  the  consequences.- — I  ap 
prehend  that  in  the  mean  time,  the  colonies  will  continue  to 
be  treated  with  contempt,  and  the  redress  of  their  grievances 
be  neglected — that,  this  will  inflame  matters  still  more  in 
that  country — that,  further  rash  measures  there,  may  create 
more  resentments  here — that,  their  assemblies  will  be  at- 
tempted to  be  dissolved — that,  more  troops  will  be  sent  to 
oppress  them — that,  to  justify  these  measures  of  govern- 
ment, your  newspapers  will  revile  them  as  miscreants,  rogues, 
dastards,  and  rebels — that,  this  will  alienate  the  minds  of 
the  people  here  from  them,  and  theirs  from  you- — that,  pos- 
sibly too,  some  of  their  warm  patriots  may  be  distracted 
enough  to  uo  some  mad  act  which  will  cause  them  to  be 
sent  for  hii\er — and  that  government  may  be  indiscreet 
enough  to  hang  them  for  it — that  mutual  provocations  will 
thus  go  on  to  complete  the  separation,  and  instead  of  that 
cordial  affection  which  so  long  existed,  and  which  is  so  ne- 
cessary to  the  glory  and  happiness  of  both  countries,  an  im- 
placable malice,  dishonourable  and  destructive  to  both,  may 
take  place.  I  hope,  however,  that  this  may  all  prove  foist 
prophecy,  and  that  you  and  I  may  live  to  see  as  sincere  a 
friendship  established  between  our  countries,  as  has  so  many 
years  subsisted  between  W.  Strahan,  Esq.  and  his  truly 
affectionate  old  friend,  B.  FRANKLIN." 

But  notwithstanding  his  prayer  to  the  contrary,  every 
body  recollects  how,  exactly  as  Dr.  Franklin  had  predicted, 
the  minister  continued  to  blunder  and  blunder  on  with  his 
face  constantly  towards  war — how  nothing  was  trumpeted  by 
the  ministerial  party,  like  the  ingratitude  and  baseness  of 
the  Americans — how  certain  newspapers  perpetually  vilified 
them  as  miscreants,  rascals  and  rebels — how  the  public  mind 
was  so  set  against  them  that  even  the  shoe-blacks,  as  Mr. 
Wilkes  said,  talked  of  the  colonies  as  their  plantations,  anil 
♦»i  the  people  there  as  if  they  had  been  their  overseers  and 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


205 


pie  beef  and  pudding.  By  these  means,  and  the  stoppage  of 
our  consumptive  trade  with  Britain,  we  shall  be  better  able  to 
pay  our  voluntary  taxes  for  the  support  of  our  troops.  Our 
savings  in  the  article  of  trade,  amount  to  near  five  millions 
of  sterling  per  annum. — Yours,  most  affectionately, 

B.  FRANKLIN. 

In  another  letter  to  the  same,  dated  October  3d,  he  says: 
"Tell  our  dear  good  friend,  doctor  Price,  who  sometimes 
has  his  doubts  and  despondencies  about  our  firmness,  that 
America  is  determined  and  unanimous:  a  very  few  tories 
and  placemen  excepted,  who  will  probably  soon  export  them- 
selves. Britain,  at  the  expense  of  three  millions  has  killed 
in  this  campaign,  one  hundred  and  fifty  yankees !  which  is 
20,000  pounds  sterling  a  head;  and  at  Bunker's  hill  she  gain- 
ed half  a  mile  of  ground!  During  the  same  time  she  lost,  at 
one  place,  near  one  thousand  men,  and  we  have  had  a  good 
sixty  thousand  children  born  in  America.  From  these  data, 
with  the  help  of  his  mathematical  head,  lord  North  will  easily 
calculate  the  time  and  expense  necessary  to  kill  us  all,  and 
conquer  our  whole  territory. — 

Tarn  yours,  B.  FRANKLIN." 

In  another  letter  to  the  same,  and  of  the  same  date,  he 
says: 

"Britain  still  goes  on  to  goad  and  exasperate.  She  de- 
spises us  too  much;  and  seems  to  forget  the  Italian  proverb, 
that  6  there  is  no  little  enemy.'9  I  am  persuaded  the  body  of 
(he  British  people  are  our  friends;  but  your  lying  gazettes  may 
soon  make  them  our  enemies — and  1  see  clearly  that  we  are  on 
the  high  road  to  mutual  enmity,  hatred,  and  detestation.  A 
separation  will  of  course  be  inevitable.  It  is  a  million  of  pities 
so  fair  a  plan,  as  we  have  hitherto  been  engaged  in  for  in- 
creasing strength  and  empire  with  public  felicity,  should 
be  destroyed  by  the  mangling  hands  of  a  few  blundering; 
ministers.  It  will  not  be  destroyed:  God  will  protect 
and  prosper  it:  you  will  only  exclude  youselves  from  any 
share  of  it.  We  hear  that  more  ships  and  troops  are  coming 
out.  We  know  you  may  do  us  a  great  deal  of  mischief,  but 
we  are  determined  to  bear  it  patiently;  but  if  you  flatter 
yourselves  with  beating  us  into  submission,  you  know  neithei 
the  people  nor  the  country. 

I  am  ever  your's,  most  affectionately, 

B.  FRANKLIN 

18 


106 


THE  LIFE  OF 


This  letter  of  Doctor  Franklin's  is  the  first  thing  I  have 

seen  that  utters  a  whisper  about  Independence.  It  was, 
however,  a  prophetical  whisper,  and  soon  found  its  accom- 
plishment in  the  source  that  Franklin  predicted — the  bar- 
barity of  Britain.  To  see  war  waged  against  them  by  a 
power  whom  they  had  always  gloried  in  as  their  Mother 
Country — to  see  it  waged  because  as  the  children  of  En- 
glishmen, they  had  only  asked  for  the  common  rights  of 
Englishmen — to  see  it  waged  with  a  savageness  unknown 
among  civilized  nations, and  all  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell, as 
it  were,  stirred  up  against  them — the  I  ndians  with  their  bloody 
tomahawks  and  scalping  knives — the  negroes  with  their  mid- 
night hoes  and  axes — the  merciless  flames  let  loose  on  their 
midwinter  towns — with  prisons,  chains,  and  starvation  of  their 
vorthiest  citizens.  "  Such  miserable  specimens,"  as  Franklin 
tinned  them,  "  of  the  British  government,"  produced  every 
where  in  the  colonies  a  disposition  to  detest  and  avoid  it  as  a 
complication  of  robbery,  murder,  famine,  fire  and  pestilence. 

On  the  7th  of  June,  resolutions  respecting  independence, 
were  moved  and  seconded  in  Congress.  Doctor  Franklin 
threw  all  the  weight  of  his  wisdom  and  character  into  the 
scale  in  favour  of  independence. 

" Independence,"  said  he,  "zvill  cut  the  Gordian  knot 
at  once,  and  give  us  freedom. 

46 1.  Freedom  from  the  oppressive  kings,  and  endless  wars, 
and  mad  politics,  and  forced  religion  of  an  unreasonable  and 
cruel  government. 

k<  II.  Freedom  to  choose  a  fair,  and  cheap,  and  reasonable 
government  of  our  own. 

u  III.  Freedom  to  live  in  friendship  with  all  nations ;  and 

" IV.  Freedom  to  trade  with  all." 

On  the  4th  of  July,  the  Independence  of  the  United  States 
was  declared.  Immediately  on  the  finishing  of  this  great 
work,  doctor  Franklin,  with  a  committee  of  the  first  talents 
in  Congress,  prepared  a  number  of  very  masterly  addresses 
to  the  courts  of  Europe,  informing  what  the  United  States 
had  done;  assigning  their  reasons  for  so  doing;  and  tender- 
ing in  the  most  affectionate  terms,  the  friendship  and  trade 
of  the  young  nation.  The  potentates  of  Europe  were,  gene- 
rally, well  pleased  to  hear  that  a  new  star  had  risen  in  the 
west,  and  talked  freely  of  opening  their  treasures  and  pre- 
senting their  gifts  of  friendship,  &c. 

But  the  European  power  that  seemed  most  to  rejoice  in 
this  event  was  the  French.    In  August,  doctor  Franklin 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


207 


was  appointed  by  Congress  to  visit  the  French  court,  for  the 
purpose  of  forming  an  alliance  with  that  powerful  people.  It 
was  his  friend,  Doctor  B.  Rush,  who  first  announced  to  him 
the  choice  which  Congress  had  made,  adding,  at  the  same 
time,  his  hearty  congratulations  on  that  account. 

"  Why,  doctor,"  replied  he  with  a  smile,  uIam  now,  like 
an  old  broom,  worn  down  to  the  stump  in  my  country's  ser- 
vice— near  seventy  yeais  old.  But  such  as  I  am,  she  must, 
I  suppose,  have  the  last  of  me."  Like  the  brave  Dutch  repub- 
licans, each  with  his  wallet  of  herrings  on  his  back,  when 
they  went  forth  to  negotiate  with  the  proud  Dons,  so  did  doc- 
tor Franklin  set  out  to  court  the  great  French  nation,  with  no 
provisions  for  his  journey,  but  a  few  hogsheads  of  tobacco, 
tie  was  received  in  France,  however,  with  a  most  hearty 
welcome,  not  only  as  an  envoy  from  a  brave  people  fighting 
for  their  rights,  but  also  as  the  famed  American  philosopher, 
who  by  his  paratonerres  (lightning  rods)  had  disarmed  the 
clouds  of  their  lightnings,  and  who,  it  was  hoped,  would  re- 
duce the  colossal  power  of  Great  Britain. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  Paris,  before  the  attention  of  all 
the  courts  of  Europe  was  attached  to  him,  by  a  publication, 
wherein  he  demonstrated,  that,  the  young,  healthy,  and 
sturdy  republic  of  America,  with  her  simple  manners,  labori- 
ous habits,  and  millions  of  fresh  land  and  produce,  would  be 
a  much  safer  borrower  of  money,  than  the  old,  profligate,  and 
debt-bur thened  government  of  Britain.  The  Dutch  and 
French  courts,  in  particular,  read  his  arguments  with  such 
attention,  that  they  soon  began  to  make  him  loans.  To  the 
Fiench  cabinet  he  pointed  out,  u  the  inevitable  destruc- 
tion OF  THEIR  FLEETS,  COLONIES,  AND  COMMERCE,  IN  CASE 

of  a  re-union  of  bhitain  and  America."  There  wanted 
but  a  grain  to  turn  the  trembling  balance  in  favour  of  Ame- 
rica. 

But  it  was  the  will  of  Heaven  to  withhold  that  grain  a 
good  long  while.  And  Franklin  had  the  mortification  to 
hnd,  that  although  the  French  were  an  exceedingly  polite 
people;  constantly  eulogizing  General  Washington  and 
the  Brave  Bostonians,  on  every  little  victory;  and  also 
for  their  tobacco,  very  thriftily  smuggling  all  the  fire  arms 
and  ammunition  they  could  into  the  United  States,  yet  they 
had  no  notion  of  coming  out  manfully  at  once  upon  the 
British  lion,  until  they  should  first  see  the  American  Eagle 
lay  the  monster  on  his  back.  Dr.  Franklin,  of  course,  was 
permitted  to  rest  on  his  oars,  at  Passy,  in  the  neighbourhood 


SOS 


THE  LIFE  OF 


of  Paris.  His  characteristic  philanthropy,  however,  could 
not  allow  him  to  be  idle  at  a  court,  whose  pride  and  extra 
vagance  were  so  horribly  irreconcileable  with  his  ideas  of 
the  true  use  of  riches,  i.  e.  Independence  for  ourselves,  and 
Beneficence  to  others.  And  he  presently  came  out  in  t  ie 
Paris  Gazette  with  the  following  master  piece  of  Wit  and 
Economics. 

To  the  Editors  of  the  Paris  Journal. 
Gentlemen, 

I  was  the  other  evening  in  a  grand  company,  where  the 
new  lamp  of  Messrs.  Quinquet  and  Lange  was  introduced, 
and  much  admired  for  its  splendour;  butageneral  inquiry  was 
made,  whether  the  oil  it  consumed,  was  not  in  proportion  1o 
the  light  it  afforded;  in  which  case  there  would  be  no  saving 
in  the  use  of  it.  No  one  present  could  satisfy  us  on  that 
point;  which  all  agreed  ought  to  be  known,  it  being  a  very 
desirable  thing  to  lessen,  if  possible,  the  expense  of  lighting 
our  apartments,  when  every  other  article  of  family  expense 
was  so  much  augmented. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  this  general  concern  for  economy; 
for  I  love  economy  exceedingly. 

I  went  home,  and  to  bed,  three  or  four  hours  after  mid- 
night, with  my  head  full  of  the  subject.  An  accidental  sud 
den  noise  awaked  me  about  six  in  the  morning,  when  I  was 
surprised  to  find  my  room  filled  with  light;  and  I  imagined, 
at  first,  that  a  number  of  these  lamps  had  been  brought  intc 
it ;  but  rubbing  my  eyes,  I  perceived  the  light  came  in  at 
my  windows.  [  got  up,  and  looked  out  to  see  what  might 
be  the  occasion  of  it,  when  I  saw  the  sun  just  rising  above 
the  horizon,  whence  he  poured  his  rays  plentifully  into  my 
chamber,  my  domestic  having  negligently  omitted,  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  to  close  the  shutters. 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  which  goes  very  well,  and  found 
that  it  was  but  six  o'clock;  and  still  thinking  it  something 
extraordinary  that  the  sun  should  rise  so  early,  I  looked  in- 
to the  almanack;  where  I  found  it  to  be  the  hour  given  for 
its  rising  on  that  day. 

Your  readers,  who,  with  me,  have  never  seen  any  signs 
of  sunshine  before  noon,  and  seldom  regard  the  astronomical 
part  of  the  almanack,  will  be  as  much  astonished  as  I  was. 
when  they  hear  of  his  rising  so  early;  and  especially  when  I 
assure  them  that  he  gives  light  as  soon  as  he  rises.  I  am 
certain  of  the  fact.    /  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  And 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


having  repeated  this  observation  the  three  following  morn- 
ings, I  found  always  precisely  the  same  result. 

Yet  so  it  happens,  that  when  I  speak  of  this  discovery  to  • 
others,  I  can  easily  perceive  by  their  countenances,  though 
they  forbear  expressing  it  in  words,  that  they  do  not  quite 
believe  me.  One,  indeed,  who  is  a  learned  natural  philoso- 
pher, has  assured  me  that  I  must  certainly  be  mistaken  as 
to  the  circumstance  of  the  light  coming  into  my  room;  for  it 
being  well  known,  as  he  says,  that  there  could  be  no  light 
abroad  at  that  hour,  it  follows  that  none  could  enter  from 
without;  and  that  of  consequence,  my  windows  being  acci- 
dentally left  open,  instead  of  letting  in  the  light,  had  only 
served  to  let  out  the  darkness. 

This  event  has  given  rise,  in  my  mind,  to  several  serious 
and  important  reflections.  I  considered  that,  if  I  had  not 
been  awakened  so  early  in  the  morning,  L  should  have  slept 
six  hours  longer  by  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  in  exchange  have 
lived  six  hours  the  following  night  by  candle-light;  and  the  lat- 
ter being  a  much  more  expensive  light  than  the  former,  my 
love  of  economy  induced  me  to  muster  up  what  little  arithme 
tic  I  was  master  of,  and  to  make  some  calculations,  which  1 
shall  give  you,  after  observing,  that  utility  is,  in  my  opinion, 
the  test  of  value  in  matters  of  invention,  and  that  a  disco 
very  which  can  be  applied  to  no  use,  or  is  not  good  for 
something,  is  good  for  nothing. 

I  took  for  the  basis  of  my  calculation,  the  supposition  that 
there  are  100,000  families  in  Paris;  and  that  these  families 
consume  in  the  night  half  a  pound  of  candles,  per  hour.  1 
think  this  a  moderate  allowance,  taking  one  family  with 
another;  for  though  I  believe  some  consume  less,  I  know 
that  many  consume  a  great  deal  more.  Then,  estimating 
seven  hours  per  day,  as  the  medium  quantity  between  the 
time  of  the  surfs  rising  and  ours,  and  there  being  seven 
hours,  of  course,  per  night,  in  which  we  burn  candles,  the  ac- 
count will  stand  thus: 

In  12  months  there  are  nights  365;  hours  of  each  night 
in  which  we  burn  candles  7;  multiplication  gives  for  the  to- 
tal number  of  hours  2555.  These  multiplied  by  100,000, 
the  number  of  families  in  Paris,  give  255,500,000  hours 
spent  at  Paris  by  candle-light,  which,  at  half  a  pound  of 
wax  and  tallow  per  hour,  give  127,750,000  pounds,  worth, 
at  3  livres  the  pound,  383,250,000  livres ;  upwards  of 

THIRTY   MILLIONS   OF   DOLLARS  !  !  ! 

An  mmense  sum!  that  the  citv  of  Paris  might  save  everj 

18* 


210 


THE  LIFE  OF 


year,  by  the  economy  of  using  sunshine  instead  of  candles., 
— If  it  should  be  said,  that  the  people  are  very  apt  to  be 
obstinately  attached  to  old  customs,  and  that  it  will  be  diffi- 
cult to  induce  them  to  rise  before  noon,  consequently  my 
discovery  can  be  of  little  use,  I  answer,  we  must  not 'despair. 
I  believe  all,  who  have  common  sense,  as  soon  as  they  have 
learnt,  from  this  paper,  that  it  is  daylight  when  the  sun 
rises,  will  contrive  to  rise  with  him;  and  to  compel  the  rest, 
1  would  propose  the  following  regulations: 

First.  Let  a  tax  be  laid  of  a  louis,  (a  guinea,)  per  window, 
on  every  window  that  is  provided  with  shutters  to  keep  out 
the  light  of  the  sun. 

Second.  Let  guards  be  placed  in  the  shops  of  the  wax 
and  tallow-chandlers;  and  no  family  be  permitted  to  be 
supplied  with  more  than  one  pound  of  candles  per  week. 

Third.  Let  guards  be  posted,  to  stop  all  the  coaches,  &c. 
that  would  pass  the  streets  after  sunset,  except  those  of 
physicians,  surgeons,  and  mid  wives. 

Fourth.  Every  morning,  as  soon  as  the  sun  rises,  let  all 
the  bells  in  the  city  be  set  ringing;  and  if  that  be  not  suffi- 
cient let  cannon  be  tired  in  every  street,  to  awake  the 
sluggards  effectually,  and  make  them  open  their  eyes  to  see 
their  true  interest. 

All  the  difficulty  will  be  in  the  first  two  or  three  days: 
after  which  the  reformation  will  be  as  natural  and  easy  as 
the  present  irregularity.  Oblige  a  man  to  rise  at  four  in  the 
morning,  and,  it  is  more  than  probable,  he  shall  go  willingly 
to  bed  at  eight  in  the  evening;  and  having  had  eight  hours 
sleep,  he  will  rise  more  willingly  at  four,  in  the  morning 
following. 

For  the  great  benefit  of  this  discovery,  thus  freely  com- 
municated and  bestowed  by  me,  on  the  good  city  of  Paris, 
1  demand  neither  place,  pension,  exclusive  privilege,  nor 
any  other  reward  whatever.  I  expect  only  to  have  the  honour 
of  it.  And  yet  I  know  there  are  little  envious  minds,  who 
will,  as  usual,  deny  me  this,  and  say  that  my  invention  was 
known  to  the  ancients.  I  will  not  dispute  that  the  ancients 
knew  that  the  sun  would  rise  at  certain  hours.  They  possi- 
bly had  almanacks  that  predicted  it;  but  it  does  not  follow, 
thence,  that  they  knew  that  he  gave  light  as  soon  as  he  rose. 
This  is  what  I  claim  as  my  discovery.  If  the  ancients  knew  it? 
it  must  long  since  have  been  forgotten;  for  it  certainly  was 
unknown  to  the  moderns,  at  least  to  the  Parisians;  which  to 
Drove,  I  need  use  but  one  plain  simple  argument.    They  are 


DR.  FRANKLTN. 


213 


court  wore  so  dazzled  with  the  brilliancy  of  his  mind  that 
they  never  looked  at  his  stockings.  And  while  many  other 
ministers  who  figured  in  all  the  gaudy  fashions  of  the  day 
are  now  forgotten,  the  name  of  Dr.  Franklin  is  still  men- 
tioned., in  Paris  with  all  the  ardour  of  the  most  affectionate 
enthusiasm 


CHAPTER  XLL 

Imagination  can  hardly  conceive  a  succession  of  pleasures 
more  elegant  and  refined  than  those  which  Dr.  Franklin, 
now  on  the  shady  side  of  threescore  and  ten,  continued  daily 
to  enjoy  in  the  vicinity  of  Paris — his  mornings  constantly 
devoted  to  his  beloved  studies,  and  his  evenings  to  the  cheer- 
ful society  of  his  friends — the  greatest  monarch  of  Europe 
heaping  him  with  honours  unasked,  and  the  brightest  Wits 
and  Beauties  of  his  court  vying  with  each  other  in  their  at- 
tentions to  him.  And  thus  as  the  golden  hours  rolled  along, 
they  still  found  him  happy — gratefully  contrasting  his  pre- 
sent glory  with  his  hum  We  origin,  and  thence  breathing  no- 
thing but  benevolence  to  man—firmly  confiding  in  the  care 
of  Heaven — and  fully  persuaded  that  his  smiles  would  yet 
descend  upon  his  countrymen,  now  fighting  the  good  fight  of 
liberty  and  happiness. 

While  waiting  in  strong  hope  of  this  most  desirable  of  all 
events,  he  received,  by  express,  December  1777,  the  wel- 
come news  that  the  battle  had  been  joined  in  America,  and 
that  God  had  delivered  a  noble  wing  of  the  British  army 
into  the  hands  of  the  brave  republicans  at  Saratoga.  O  ye, 
who,  rejecting  the  philosophy  of  all  embracing  love,  know  no 
joys  beyond  vvhat.the  miser  feels  when  his  own  little  heap  in- 
creases, how  faintly  can  you  conceive  what  this  great  apos- 
tle of  liberty  enjoyed  when  he  found  that  his  countrymen 
still  retained  tae  fire  of  their  gallant  fathers,  and  were  re- 
solved to  live  free  or  press  a  glorious  grave!  He  lost  no  time 
to  improve  this  splendid  victory  to  the  good  of  his  country. 
In  several  audiences  with  the  king  and  his  ministers,  he 
clearly  demonstrated  that  France  in  all  her  days  of  ancient 
danger  had  never  known  so  dark  a  cloud  impending  over  her 
as  at  this  awful  crisis.  "  If  Great  Britain,"  said  he,  "  already 
so  powerful  were  to  subdue  the  revolted  colonies  and  add 


214 


THE  LIFE  OF 


all  North  America  to  her  empire,  she  would  in  twenty  years 
be  strong  enough  to  crush  the  power  of  France  and  not  leave 
her  an  island  or  a  ship  on  the  ocean."  As  a  sudden  flash  of 
lightning  from  the  opening  clouds  before  the  burst  of  thun- 
der and  rain,  such  was  the  shock  produced  by  this  argu- 
ment on  the  mind  of  every  thinking  man  throughout  France. 
The  courtiers  with  all  their  talents  for  dissembling  could  not 
conceal  their  hostile  feelings  from  the  British  minister  resi 
dent  among  them.  He  marked  it,  not  without  sentiments  of 
answering  hostility,  which  he  could  no  better  conceal,  and 
which,  indeed,  after  the  honest  bluntness  of  his  national  cha- 
racter, he  did  not  care  to  conceal.  The  increased  attentions 
paid  to  Dr.  Franklin,  and  the  rejoicings  in  Paris  on  account 
of  the  American  victories,  were  but  illy  calculated  to  soothe  his 
displeasure.  Bitter  complaints  were  presently  forwarded  to 
his  court — angry  remonstrances  to  the  French  cabinet  follow- 
ed— and  in  a  short  time  the  embers  of  ancient  hate  were 
blown  up  to  flames  of  fury  so  diabolical  that  nothing  but 
war,  with  all  its  rivers  of  human  blood  could  extinguish  it. 
War,  of  course,  was  proclaimed — Paris  was  illuminated — 
and  the  thunder  of  the  Royal  cannon  soon  announced  to  the 
willing  citizens  that  the  die  was  cast,  and  that  the  Grand 
Monarcjue  was  become  the  Ally  of  the  United  States. 

"  Wliile  there  is  any  thing  to  be  done  nothing  is  done"  said 
Caesar.  Franklin  thought  so  too.  He  had  succeeded  in  his 
efforts  to  persuade  the  warlike  French  to  take  part  with  his 
oppressed  countrymen;  but  the  Spaniards  and  the  Dutch 
were  still  neutral.  To  rouse  their  hostile  feelings  against 
Great  Britain,  and  to  make  them  the  hearty  partisans  of 
Washington,  was  his  next  study.  The  event  quickly  showed 
that  he  had  studied  human  nature  with  success.  He  who 
had  been  the  playmate  of  lightnings  for  the  glory  of  God, 
found  no  difficulty  in  stirring  up  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise 
him — by  chastising  the  sons  of  violence.  The  tall  black 
ships  of  war  were  soon  seen  to  rush  forth  from  the  ports  of 
Holland  and  Spain,  laden  with  the  implements  of  death,  to 
arrest  the  mad  ambition  of  Great  Britain,  and  maintain  the 
balance  of  power.  How  dearly  ought  the  American  peo- 
ple to  prize  their  liberties,  for  which  such  bloody  contribu- 
tion was  laid  on  the  human  race!  Imagination  glances  with 
terror  on  that  dismal  war  whose  spread  was  over  half  the 
solid  and  half  the  watery  globe.  Its  devouring  fires  burned 
from  the  dark  wilds  of  North  America  to  the  distant  isles 
of  India;  and  the  blood  of  its  victims  was  mingled  w  ith  the 


DR.  FRANKLIN 


brine  of  every  ocean.  Rut,  thanks  to  God,  the  conflict 
though  violent,  was  but  short.  And  much  of  the  honour  o» 
bringing  it  to  a  close  is  to  be  conceded  to  the  instrumen 
talitv   f  Dr.  Fmklin. 

We  have  Seen  that  in  1763,  he  was  sent  (of  Heaven  no 
doubt,  for  it  was  an  act  worthy  of  his  all-benevolent  charac- 
ter,) a  preacher  of  righteousness,  to  the  proud  court  of  Bri- 
tain. His  luminous  preachings,  (through  the  press,)  on  the 
injustice  and  unconstitutionality  of  the  ministerial  taxing 
measures  on  the  colonies,  shed  such  light,  that  thousands  of 
honest  Englishmen  set  their  faces  against  them,  and  also 
against  the  war  to  which  they  saw  it  was  tending.  These 
converts  to  justice,  these  doves  of  peace,  were  not  sufficient 
ly  numerous  to  defeat  the  war-hawks  of  their  bloody  pur- 
poses. But  when  they  found  that  the  war  into  which  they 
had  plunged  with  such  confidence,  had  not,  instantly,  as  they 
expected,  reduced  the  colonies  to  slavish  submission;  but 
that,  instead  thereof,  one  half  Europe  in  favour  of  America, 
was  in  arms  against  them  with  a  horrible  destruction  of  lives 
and  property  which  they  had  not  counted  on,  and  of  which 
they  saw  no  end,  they  seriously  deplored  their  folly  in  not 
pursuing  the  counsel  of  doctor  Franklin.  The  nation  was 
still,  however,  dragged -on  in  war,  plunging  like  a  stalled 
animal,  deeper  and  deeper  in  disaster  and  distress,  until  the 
capture  of  lord  Cornwallis  and  his  army  came  like  a  thun- 
der-bolt, inflicting  on  the  war  party  a  death  blow,  from  which 
they  never  afterwards  recovered. 

Dr.  Franklin  received  this  most  welcome  piece  of  news, 
the  surrender  of  lord  Cornwallis,  by  express  from  America. 
He  had  scarcely  read  the  letters  with  the  tear  of  joy  swell- 
ing in  his  patriot  eye,  when  Mr.  Necker  came  in.  Seeing 
the  transport  on  his  face,  he  eagerly  asked  what  good  news. 
"  Thank  God,"  replied  Franklin,  "the  storm  is  past.  The 
paratonerres  of  divine  justice  have  drawn  off  the  lightnings 
of  British  violence,  and  here,  sir,  is  the  rainbow  of  peace,*" 
holding  up  the  letter.  What  am  I  to  understand  by  that, 
replied  Necker.  Why,  sir,  quoth  Franklin,  my  lord  Corn- 
wallis and  his  army  are  prisoners  of  war  to  general  Wash 
ington.  Doctor  Franklin's  calculation,  on  the  surrender  of 
Cornwallis,  that  the  storm  was  past,  was  very  correct;  for, 
although  the  thunders  did  not  immediately  cease,  yet,  after 
that  event,  they  hardly  amounted  to  any  thing  beyond  a 
harmless  rumbling,  which  presently  subsided  altogether) 
leaving  a  fine  bright  sky  behind  them. 


216 


THE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

The  rest  ot*  the  acts  of  doctor  Franklin  while  he  icsided  in 
France,  and  the  many  pleasures  he  enjoyed  there,  were  first, 
the  great  pleasure  of  announcing  to  the  French  court,  in  1781, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  surrender  of  lord  Cornwallis  and  his 
army  to  general  Washington.  Second,  the  still  greater  plea- 
sure of  learning  in  1782,  that  the  British  ministry  were 
strongly  inclined  to  "a  peace  talk."  Third,  1783,  the 
greatest  pleasure  of  all,  the  pleasure  of  burying  the  toma 
hawk,  by  general  peace. 

Thus  after  having  lived  to  see  completely  verified  all  his 
awful  predictions  to  the  blind  and  obstinate  British  cabinet 
about  the  result  of  this  disastrous  war;  with  losses  indeed,  be- 
yond his  prediction — the  loss  of  two  thousand  ships  ! — the  loss 
of  one  hundred  thousand  lives! — the  loss  of  seven  hundred 
millions  of  dollars!  and  a  loss  still  greater  than  all,  the  loss 
of  the  immense  continent  of  North  America,  and  the  mono- 
ply  of  its  incalculable  produce  and  trade,  shortly  to  fly  on 
wings  of  canvass  to  all  parts  of  the  globe. 

Having  lived  to  see  happily  terminated,  the  grand  strug- 
gle for  American  liberty,  which  even  Englishmen  have  pro- 
nounced "the  last  hope  and  probable  refuge  of  mankinds 
and  having  obtained  leave  from  congress  to  return,  he  took 
a  last  farewell  of  his  generous  Parisian  friends,  and  embarked 
for  his  native  country. 

On  the  night  of  the  4th  of  September,  the  ship  made  the 
light-house  at  the  mouth  of  the  Delaware  bay.  On  coming 
upon  deck  next  morning,  he  beheld  all  in  full  view  and  close 
at  hand  the  lovely  shores  of  America,  "  where  his  fathers  haa 
dwelt.'9'9  Who  can  paint  the  joy -brightened  looks  of  oui 
veteran  patriot,  when,  after  an  absence  of  seven  years,  he  be- 
held once  more  that  beloved  country  for  whose  liberties  and 
morals  he  had  so  long  contended?  Formerly,  with  an  aching 
heart,  he  had  beheld  her  as  a  dear  mother,  whose  fame  was 
tarnished,  and  her  liberties  half  ravished  by  foreign  lords. 
But  now  he  greets  her  as  free  again,  and  freed,  through  hea- 
ven's blessing  on  her  own  heroic  virtue  and  valour.  Crown- 
ed thus  with  tenfold  glory,  he  hails  her  with  transport,  as  the 
grand  nursery  of  civil  and  religious  freedom,  whose  fair 
example  of  republican  wisdom  and  moderation  is,  probably, 
destined  of  God  to  recommend  the  blessings  of  free  govern 
ment  to  all  mankind. 


2 


*18  miC  LIFE  OF,j_ 


her  councils  in  thejjrand  convention  that  was  about  to  sit  in  ^ 
Philadelphia  for  thepqrpOse  of  framing  the  present  excellent 
constitution.  He  was  called  to  this  duty  in  \7^7/f\  TIh5\«.i 
speech  which^te  made  in  tfcltt  Convention  .has  a  high  claim 
-fco  our  notice/not  only  because  it  was  the  Mast  speech  that 
Dr.  Franklin  ever  made  in  public;  but  because  nothing  ever 
yet  placed  in  a  fairer  light  the  charm  of  modesty  in  a  great 
mankind  also  the.#fc©e  of  temperance,  exercise  and  cheer- 
^<^*^**<7 fulness,  which  could  preserve  the  intellectual  faculties  in 
such  vigour,  to  the^  astonishing  age  of 

Final  Speech  of  ifotfsrr  Frjmklin  in  the  Federal  Convention 

^Mr.  Presidej^^)  /\  ^T^S  ^* 

I  do  not  entirely  approve  this  constitution  at  present, 
but,  sir,  I  am  not  sure  I  shall  never  approve  it;  for,  having 
lived  long,  I  have  experienced  many  instances  of  being 
obliged,  by  better  information,  to  change  opinions  which  1 
once  thought  right.  It  is,  therefore,  that  the  older  I  grow, 
the  more  apt  I  am  to  doubt  my  own  judgment,  and  to  pay 
more  respect  to  the  judgment  of  others.  Most  men,  indeed, 
as  well  as  most  sects  of  religion,  think  themselves  in  posses- 
sion of  all  truth,  and  that  whenever  others  differ  from  them, 
it  is  so  far  error.  Steele,  a  protestant,  tells  the  pope,  that 
fc*  the  only  difference  between  our  two  churches,  in  their 
opinion  of  the  certainty  of  their  doctrines,  is,  the  Romish 
church  is  infallible,  and  the  church  of  England  never  in  the 
wrong." 

But  though  mar.v  private  persons  think  almost  as  highly 
of  their  own  infallibility,  as  of  that  of  their  sect,  few  express 
it  so  naturally  as  a  certain  French  lady,  who,  in  a  little  dis- 
pute with  her  sister,  said,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  happens, 
sister,  but  I  meet  with  nobody  but  myself  that  is  always  in 
the  right"  In  these  sentiments,  sir,  I  agree  to  this  constitu- 
tion, with  all  its  faults,  if  they  are  such;  because  I  think  a 
general  government  necessary  for  us,  and  there  is  no  form 
of  government  but  what  may  be  a  blessing,  if  well  adminis- 
tered; and  I  believe  farther,  that  this  is  likely  to  be  well 
administered  for  a  course  of  years,  and  can  only  end  in  des- 
potism, as  other  forms  have  done  before  it,  when  the  people 
shall  become  so  corrupted,  as  to  need  despotic  government, 
being  incapable  of  any  other.  I  doubt  too,  whether  any 
other  convention  we  can  obtain,  may  be  able  to  make  a  bet- 
ter constitution.    For  when  you  assemble  a  number  of  men, 


FRANKLIN.  |\217 

The  next  day  in  the  ajfternoon  he  arrived  at  Philadelphia. 
It  is  not  for  me  to  descijibe  what  he  felt  in  sailing  al^ng  up 
these  lovely  shores,  whilje  the  heaven  within  diffused  a  double 
brightness  and  beauty  oyer  all  the  fair  and  magnificent  scenes 
around.  Neither  is  it  fbr  me  to  delineate  the  numerous  de- 
monstrations of  public  joy,  wherewith  the  citizens  of  Phila- 
delphia welcomed  the  man  whom  they  all  delighted  to  honour 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  Was  landed  amidst  the  firing  of  can- 
non— that  he  was  crowded  with  congratulatory  addresses — 
that  he  was  invited  to  sumptuous  banquets,  &c.  &c.  &c.  But 
though  it  was  highly  gratifying  to  others  to  see  transcendent 
worth  so  duly  noticed,  yet  to  himself,  who  had  been  so  long 
familiar  with  such  honours,  they  appeared  but  as  baubles  that 
had  lost  their  tinsel. 

But  there  were  some  pledges  of  respect  offered  him,  which 
afforded  a  heartfelt  satisfaction;  I  mean  those  numbers  of 
pressing  invitations  to  accept  the  presidencies  of  sundry 
noble  institutions  for  public  good,  as 

I.  A  society  for  diffusing  a  knowledge  of  the  best  politics 
for  our  republic. 

II.  A  society  for  alleviating  the  miseries  of  public  pri- 
sons. 

III.  A  society  tor  abolishing  the  slave  trade — the  relief 
of  free  negroes  unlawfully  held  in  bondage — and  for  better- 
ing the  condition  of  the  poor  blacks. 

"  It  was  because,"  said  the  trustees,  "  they  well  knew  he 
nad  made  it  the  sole  scopfc  of  his  greatly  useful  life  to  pro- 
mote institutions  for  the j  happiness  of  mankind,  that  they 
now  solicited  the  honour  dnd  benefit  of  his  special  care  and 
guardianship." 

Though  now  almost  worn  out  with  the  toils  of  fourscore 
years,  and  oftentimes  grievously  afflicted  with  his  old  com- 
plaint, the  gravel,  he  yet  accepted  the  proffered  appointments 
with  great  pleasure,  and  attended  to  the  duties  of  them  with 
all  the  ardour  of  youth.    Thus  affording  one  more  proof, 

"  That,  infae  present  as  in  all  the  past 
O        rE  MY  COUNTRY,  HEAVEN  !  was  still  his  last* 

66  But  though  the  spiritjwas  willing,  the  flesh  was  weak." 
His  strength  was  so  sensibly  diminished  that  it  could 
scarcely  second  his  min(J,  which  seemed  as  unimpaired  as 
ever. 

But  there  was  still  one)  more  service  that  his  country  look 
ed  to  him  for,  before  he  went  to  rest;  I  mean  that  of  aiding 
19 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


221 


sat  by  his  side,  a  member  of  the  grand  Convention  in  1788, 
I  took  the  greater  pleasure  in  asking  his  opinion  of  that 
great  man  in  respect  of  his  religion.  "Why,  sir,"'  replied 
he,  u  my  opinion  of  doctor  Franklin  has  always  been,  that, 
although  he  was  not,  perhaps,  quite  so  orthodox  in  some  of 
his  notions,  he  was  very  much  a  Christian  in  his  practice. 
Nor  is  it  indeed  to  be  wondered  at,"  continued  this  able 
critic,  "  that  a  man  of  doctor  Franklin's  extraordinary  sa- 
gacity, born  and  brought  up  under  the  light  of  the  Gospel, 
should  have  imbibed  its  spirit,  and  got  his  whole  soul  en- 
:iched,  and  as  it  were  interlarded,  with  its  benevolent  af- 
fections. " 

And  I  have  since  found  from  conversation  with  many  of 
our  most  enlightened  and  evangelical  divines,  that  they  all 
agree,  with  Mr.  King,  that  doctor  Franklin's  extraordinarv 
benevolence  and  useful  life  were  imbibed,  even  unconsciously , 
from  the  Gospel.  For  whence  but  from  the  luminious  and 
sublime  doctrines  of  that  blessed  book  could  he  have  gained 
such  pure  and  worthy  ideas  of  God — his  glorious  unity,  and 
most  adorable  benevolence:  always,  himself,  loving  and  do 
ing  good  to  his  creatures;  and  constantly  seeking  such  to 
worship  him?  Whence,  we  ask,  could  he  have  got  all  these 
exalted  truths — truths,  so  honourable  to  the  Deity — -so  con- 
solatory to  man — so  auxiliary  of  human  virtue  and  happi- 
ness— whence  could  he  have  got  them,  but  from  the  light  of 
the  Gospel?  Certainly,  you  will  not  say  that  he  might  have 
got  them  from  the  light  of  nature.  For,  look  around  you 
among  all  the  mighty  nations  of  antiquity.  Look  among  the 
Egyptians — the  Greeks — the  Romans,  to  equal  him  ?  Two 
thousand  years  have  rolled  between  them  and  us,  and 
Vet  the  immortal  monuments  of  their  arts — their  poetry — 
their  painting — their  statuary — their  architecture— their  elo- 
quence— all  triumphant  over  the  wreck  of  time,  have  come 
down  to  our  days,  boldly  challenging  the  pride  of  modern 
genius  to  produce  their  parallels.  Evidently  then,  they  had 
among  them  prodigies  of  mind  equal  to  our  Franklin.  And 
yet  how  has  it  yet  come  to  pass,  that,  with  all  their  astonish- 
ing talents,  and  the  light  of  nature  besides,  they  were  so 
stupidly  blind  and  ignorant  of  God,  while  he  entertained  such 
exalted  ideas  of  him  ?  That  while  they,  like  the  modern 
idolaters  of  J  uggernaut,  were  disgracing  human  reason  by  wor- 
shipping not  only  four-footed  beasts  and  creeping  things,  but 
even  theives,  murderers,  &c.  deified,  doctor  Franklin  wa-9 

19* 


222 


THE  LIFE  OF 


elevating  his  devotions  to  the  one  all-perfect  God,  MOST 
GLORIOUS  IN  ALL  MORAL  EXCELLENCE. 

And  how  has  it  come  to  pass  that  while  they,  imitating 
their  bloody  idols,  could  take  pleasure  in  sacrificing  their 
prisoners  of  war !  beholding  murderous  fights  of  gladia- 
tors! and  even  giving  up  their  own  children  to  he  burnt  alive! 
Franklin,  by  imitating  the  moral  character  of  God,  attained 
to  all  that  gentle  wisdom  and  affectionate  goodness  that  we 
fancy  when  we  think  of  an  angel?  To  what,  I  ask,  can  we 
ascribe  all  this,  but  to  the  very  rational  cause  assigned  by 
Mr.  King,  viz.  his  having  been  born  and  brought  up  in  a 
land  of  Gospel  light  and  love?  Indeed,  who  can  read  the 
life  of  doctor  Franklin,  attentively,  without  tracing  in  it, 
throughout,  that  true  Christian  charity  which  bound  him,  as 
by  the  heart-strings,  to  his  fellow  men — on  every  occasion 
going  out  of  self  to  take  an  interest  in  them.  "  Rejoicing 
with  them,  when  they  acted  wisely  and  attained  to  honour." 
— "  Weeping  with  them  when  they  acted  foolishly  and  came 
to  shame."  Never  meeting  with  any  good  fortune,  through 
wise  doings  of  his  own,  but  he  made  it  known  to  them  for 
their  encouragement  in  similar  doings — never  falling  into 
misfortunes,  by  his  own  folly,  but  he  was  sure  to  publish 
that  too.  to  deter  others  from  falling  into  the  like  sufferings 

Now  what  was  it  but  this  amiable  oneness  of  heart,  with 
his  fellow  men;  this  sweet  Christian  sensibility  to  their  in- 
terests and  consequent  generous  delight  in  doing  them  good, 
that  filled  his  life  with  such  noble  charities.  "  Where  love 
i*5,"  said  the  great  William  Penn,  "there  is  no  labour;  or 
if  there  be,  the  labour  is  sweet."  And  what  was  it  but  this, 
that  bore  him  up  so  bravely  under  his  many  toils  and  hard- 
ships for  his  selfish  brother  James  ? 

What  made  him  so  liberal  of  his  money  and  services  to 
the  base  Collins  and  Ralph  ? 

What  made  him  so  patient  and  forgiving  of  the  injuries 
done  him  by  the  worthless  Keimer  and  Keith? 

What  made  him  so  importunate  with  his  young  acquain- 
tance in  London,  to  divert  them  from  their  brutalizing  and 
fatal  intemperance? 

What  set  him  so  vehemently  against  pride  and  extrava- 
gance, which  besides  starving  all  justice  and  hospitality 
among  neighbours,  tend  to  make  them  demons  of  fraud  and 
cruelty  to  one  another? 

What  made  him,  through  life,  such  a  powerful  orator  f»  • 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


223 


industry,  frugality,  and  honesty,  which  multiplied  riches 
and  reciprocal  esteem  and  usefulness  among  men, and  would 
make  them  all  loving  and  happy  as  brothers  ? 

In  short,  all  those  labours  which  doctor  Franklin  took 
under  the  sun — labours  so  various  and  unending,  for  public 
and  private  good,  such  as  his  fire-engines;  his  lightning  rods; 
his  public  libraries;  his  free  schools;  his  hospitals;  his  lega- 
cies for  encouragement  of  learning,  and  helping  hundreds  of 
indigent  young  mechanics  with  money  to  carry  on  their 
trades  after  his  death — whence  originated  all  this,  but  from 
that  love  which  is  stronger  than  death,  subduing  all  obstacles, 
and  overleaping  the  narrow  limits  of  this  mortal  life  ? 

What  but  the  ingenuity  of  love,  eager  to  swell  the  widow's 
mite  of  charity  into  the  rich  man's  talent  could  have  sug- 
gested the  following  curious  method  of  making  a  little  do  a 
great  deal  of  good  ? 

"  Received  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  ten  guineas,  which  I 
hereby  promise,  soon  as  I  get  out  of  my  present  embarrass- 
ments, to  lend  to  some  other  honest  and  industrious  man,  as 
near  as  I  can  guess,  he  giving  his  obligation  to  act  in  the 
same  way  by  the  next  needy  honest  man;  so  that  by  thus 
going  around  it  may  in  time,  though  a  small  sum,  do  much 
good,  unless  stopped  by  a  thief. 

JAMES  HOPEWELL." 

Passy,  Aug.  10,  1773. 


What  but  the  noble  spirit  of  that  religion  whose  sole  aim 
is  to  u  overcome  evil  with  good"  could  have  dictated  the 
following  instructions  to  Paul  Jones,  and  his  squadron,  who 
after  scouring  the  British  channel,  was  about  to  make  a  de- 
scent on  their  coasts. 

"  As  many  of  your  officers  and  people  have  lately  escaped 
from  English  prisons,  you  are  to  be  particularly  attentive 
to  their  conduct  towards  the  prisoners  you  take,  lest  resent- 
ment of  the  more  than  barbarous  usage  which  they  have  re- 
ceived from  the  English,  should  occasion  a  retaliation,  and 
an  imitation  of  what  ought  rather  to  be  detested  and  avoided 
ftr  the  sake  of  humanity  and  the  honour  of  our  country. 

B.  FRANKLIN. 

To  Commodore  P.  Jones. 
April  28,  1779  " 


224 


THE  LIFE  OF 


What  but  the  spirit  of  that  benevolent  religion  which  n 
the  firm  patroness  of  all  discoveries  for  human  benefit,  could 
have  dictated  the  ensuing  letter  "  to  the  commanders  of 
American  ships  of  war,"  in  favour  of  captain  Cook. 

"  Gentlemen, 

"A  ship  having  been  fitted  out  from  England,  before  the 
commencement  of  this  war,  to  make  discoveries  of  new  coun- 
tries in  unknown  seas,  under  the  conduct  of  that  celebrated 
navigator,  captain  Cook — an  undertaking  truly  laudable  in 
itself,  as  the  increase  of  geographical  knowledge  facilitates 
the  communication  between  distant  nations,  and  the  ex- 
change of  useful  products  and  manufactures,  and  the  exten 
sion  of  arts,  whereby  the  common  enjoyments  of  human  life 
are  multiplied  and  augmented,  and  science  of  other  kinds  in- 
creased, to  the  benefit  of  mankind  in  general. 

"This  is,  therefore,  most  earnestly  to  recommend  to  every 
one  of  you,  that  in  case  the  said  ship,  which  is  now  expected 
to  be  soon  in  the  European  seas,  on  her  return,  should  hap- 
pen to  fall  into  your  hands,  you  would  not  consider  her  as 
an  enemy,  but  that  you  treat  the  said  captain  Cook  and  his 
people  with  all  civility  and  kindness,  affording  them,  as 
common  friends  to  mankind,  ail  the  assistance  in  your 
power,  which  they  may  happen  to  stand  in  need  of. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be,  &x. 

B.  FRANKLIN, 
Minister  plenipotentiary  from  the  United  States  to 
the  court  of  Prance. 

Passy*  near  Paris ',  March  10,  1779." 

The  truly  christian  spirit  of  doctor  Franklin,  which  dic- 
tated this  passport  for  captain  Cook,  was  so  highly  approved 
by  the  British  government,  that  when  Cook's  voyages  in 
three  splendid  quarto  volumes  were  printed,  the  lords  of  the 
admiralty  sent  doctor  Franklin  a  copy  accompanied  with 
the  elegant  plates,  and  also  a  gold  medal  of  that  illustrious 
navigator,  with  a  polite  letter  from  lord  Howe,  informing 
him  that  this  compliment  was  made  to  doctor  Franklin  with 
the  king's  express  approbation. 


What  but  the  religion  that  brings  life  and  immortality  to 
light  "could  have  sprung  those  high  hopes  and  rich  consola- 
tions," which  shine  in  the  following  letter  from  dor  to  l 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  225 

Franklin  to  his  nit  ce,  on  the  death  of  her  father,  his  favourite 
brother  John  Franklin. 

''Dear  niece, 

"  I  condole  with  you.  We  have  lost  a  most  dear  and 
valuable  relation.  But  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  these  mor- 
tal bodies  be  laid  aside,  when  the  soul  is  to  enter  into  real 
life.  This  is  rather  an  embryo  state — a  preparation  for  liv 
ing.  A  man  is  not  completely  born  until  he  be  dead.  Why 
then  should  we  grieve  that  a  new  child  is  born  among  the 
immortals — a  new  member  added  to  their  society?  We  are 
spirits.  That  bodies  should  be  lent  us,  while  they  can  afford 
us  pleasure,  assist  us  in  acquiring  knowledge,  or  doing  good 
to  our  fellow  creatures,  is  a  kind  and  benevolent  act  of  God. 
Wrhen  they  become  unfit  for  these  purposes,  and  afford  us 
pain  instead  of  pleasure,  and  answer  none  of  the  intentions 
for  which  they  were  given,  it  is  equally  kind  and  benevolent 
that  a  way  is  provided  by  which  we  may  get  rid  of  them. 
Death  is  that  way.  We  ourselves  in  some  cases,  prudently 
choose  a  partial  death.  A  mangled  painful  limb,  which  can- 
not be  restored,  we  willingly  cut  off.  He  who  plucks  out 
a  tooth  parts  with  it  freely,  since  the  pain  goes  with  it;  and 
he  who  quits  the  whole  body,  parts  at  once  with  all  pains, 
and  possibilities  of  pains,  it  was  capable  of  making  him 
suffer. 

"Our  friend  and  we  were  invited  abroad  on  a  grand 
party  of  pleasure,  which  is  to  last  for  ever.  His  chair  was 
ready  first,  and  he  is  gone  before  us.  We  could  not  all 
conveniently  start  together;  and  why  should  you  and  J  be 
grieved  at  this,  since  we  are  soon  to  follow,  and  know  where 
to  find  him?  B.  FRANKLIN." 

What  but  that  religion  which  teaches  "the  price  of  truth," 
could  have  made  him  so  penitent  for  having  said  any  thing, 
in  his  youthful  days  against  revelation  ?  And  while  the 
popular  infidels  of  Europe,  the  Voltaires,  and  Humes,  and 
Bolingbrokes  were  so  fond  of  filling  the  world  with  their 
books  against  Christ,  that  they  might,  as  one  of  them  said, 
"  crush  the  wretch,"  what  but  a  hearty  esteem  of  him  could 
have  led  Franklin  to  write  the  following  pious  reproof  of  a 
gentleman,  who  having  written  a  pamphlet  against  Christi- 
anity, sent  it  to  him,  requesting  his  opinion  of  it 


226 


THE  LIFE  OF 


DR.  FRANKLIN'S  ANSWER. 

"  Sir, 

46 1  have  read  your  manuscript  with  some  attention.  Bj 
the  argument  it  contains  against  a  particular  providence, 
though  you  allow  a  general  providence,  you  strike  at  the 
foundation  of  all  religion.  For,  without  the  belief  of  a,  pro- 
vidence, that  takes  cognizance  of,  guards,  and  guides,  and 
may  favour  particular  persons,  there  is  no  motive  to  wor- 
ship a  DEITY,  to  fear  his  displeasure,  or  to  pray  for  his 
protection.  I  will  not  enter  into  any  discussion  of  your 
principles,  though  you  seem  to  desire  it.  At  present  I  shall 
only  give  ynu  my  opinion,  that  though  your  reasonings  are 
subtile,  and  may  prevail  with  some  readers,  you  will  not 
succeed  so  as  to  change  the  general  sentiments  of  mankind 
on  that  subject;  and  the  consequence  of  printing  this  piece 
will  be,  a  great  deal  of  odium  drawn  upon  yourself,  mischief 
to  you,  and  no  benefit  to  others.  He  that  spits  against  the 
wind,  spits  in  his  own  face.  But  were  you  to  succeed,  do 
you  imagine  any  good  would  be  done  by  it  ?  You  yourself 
may  find  it  easy  to  live  a  virtuous  life,  without  the  assist- 
ance afforded  by  religion;  you  having  a  clear  perception  of 
the  disadvantages  of  vice,  and  possessing  a  strength  of  reso- 
lution sufficient  to  enable  you  to  resist  common  temptations. 
But  think  how  great  a  portion  of  mankind  consists  of  weak 
and  ignorant  men  and  women,  and  of  inexperienced  incon- 
siderate youth  of  both  sexes,  who  have  need  of  the  motives 
of  religion  to  restrain  them  from  vice,  to  support  their  vir- 
tue, and  retain  them  in  the  practice  of  it  till  it  becomes  ha- 
bitual, which  is  the  great  points  of  its  security.  And, 
perhaps,  you  are  indebted  to  her  original,  that  is,  to  your 
religious  education,  for  the  habits  of  virtue  upon  which  you 
now  justly  value  yourself.  You  might  easily  display  your 
excellent  talents  of  reasoning  upon  less  hazardous  objects, 
and  thereby  obtain  a  rank  with  our  most  distinguisned 
authors.  For  among  us  it  is  not  necessary,  as  among  the 
Hottentots,  that  a  youth,  to  be  raised  into  the  company  of 
men,  should  prove  his  manhood  by  beating  his  motner.  I 
would  advise  you,  therefore,  not  to  attempt  unchaining  the 
tiger,  but  to  burn  this  piece  before  it  is  seen  by  any  other 
person — whereby  you  will  save  yourself  a  great  deal  of  mor- 
tification from  the  enemies  it  may  raise  against  you,  and, 
perhaps,  a  good  deal  of  regret  and  repentance.  If  men  are 
so  wicked  with  religion,  what  would  they  be  ivithout  it?  1* 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


229 


founded  than  that  of  our  courage,  if  we  may  judge  by  this 
circumstance,  that  in  whatever  court  of  Europe  a  Yankee 
negotiator  appeared,  the  wise  British  minister  was  routed, 
— put  in  a  passion, — picked  a  quarrel  with  your  friends, — 
and  was  sent  home  with  a  Ilea  in  his  ear.  But  after  all, 
my  dear  friend,  do  not  imagine  that  I  am  vain  enough  to 
ascribe  our  success  to  any  superiority  in  any  of  those  points. 
I  am  too  well  acquainted  with  all  the  springs  and  levers  of 
our  machine,  not  to  see  that  our  human  means  were  une- 
qual to  our  undertaking,  and  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
justice  of  our  cause,  and  the  consequent  interposition  of 
Providence,  in  which  we  had  faith,  we  must  have  been 
ruined.  If  I  had  ever  before  been  an  Atheist,  I  should  now 
have  been  convinced  of  the  being  and  government  of  a 
Deity!  It  is  HE  who  "abases  the  proud,  and  exalts  the 
humble."  May  we  never  forget  his  goodness  to  us,  and  may 
our  future  conduct  manifest  our  gratitude! 

B.  FRANKLIN. 

Now,  can  any  honest  man,  after  this,  entertain  a  doubt 
that  Or.  Franklin  was  indeed,  44  in  practice  very  much  a 
christian." 

I  am  aware  that  some  good  men  have  been  offended,  and 
I  may  add,  grieved  too,  that  Dr.  Franklin  should  ever  have 
spoken  slightingly  of  faith,  &c.  But  these  gentlemen  may 
rest  assured,  that  Dr.  Franklin  did  this  only  to  keep  people 
from  laying  such  stress  on  faith,  &c.  as  to  neglect  what  is 
infinitely  more  important,  even  Love  and  Good  Works. 
And  in  this  grand  view,  do  not  the  holy  apostles,  and  even 
Christ  himself  treat  these  things  in  the  same  way  ?  Every 
where  speaking  of  "faith  and  baptism  and  long  prayers," 
when  attempted  to  be  put  in  place  of  love  and  good  works, 
as  mere  "  beggarly  elements"  and  even  44  damning  hypocri- 
sies" However,  let  honest  men  read  the  following  letter 
on  the  subject,  by  Dr.  Franklin  himself.  While  it  serves 
to  remove  their  doubts  and  prejudices,  it  may  go  to  prove 
that  if  he  had  errors  in  religion,  the}  were  not  the  errors  of 
the  heart,  nor  likely  to  do  any  harm  in  the  world;  but  con- 
trariwise, to  make  us  all  much  better  christians,  and  happier 
men,  than  we  are. 

The  letter  is  in  answer  to  one  from  an  illustrious  foreigner; 
who,  on  a  trip  to  Philadelphia,  made  Dr.  Franklin  a  visit. 
The  doctor,  for  some  malady, advised  him  to  try  electricity; 
and  actually  gave  him  several  shocks.  MIe  had  not  long 
20 


230 


THE  LIFE  OF 


been  gone,  before  he  wrote  Dr.  Franklin  a  most  flattering 
account  of  the  effects  of  his  electricity— begged  him  to  be 
assured  he  should  never  forget  such  kindness — and  con- 
cluded with  praying  that  they  might  both  have  grace  to  live 
a  life  of  Faith,  that  if  they  were  never  to  meet  again  in 
this  world,  they  might  at  last  meet  in  heaven. 

DR.  FRANKLIN'S  ANSWER. 

Philadelphia,  June  6,  1753. 

Sir, 

I  received  your  kind  letter  of  the  2d  instant,  and  am  glad 
that  you  increase  in  strength;  I  hope  you  will  continue 
mending  till  you  recover  your  former  health. 

As  to  the  kindness  you  mention,  the  only  thanks  I  desire 
is,  that  you  would  always  be  equally  ready  to  serve  any 
other  person  that  may  need  your  assistance,  and  so  let  good 
oflices  go  round,  for  mankind  are  all  of  a  family. 

For  my  own  part,  when  I  am  employed  in  serving  others, 
I  do  not  look  upon  myself  as  conferring  favours,  but  as  pay- 
ing debts.  In  my  travels,  and  since  my  settlement,  I  have 
received  much  kindness  from  men,  to  whom  I  shall  never 
have  any  opportunity  of  making  the  least  direct  return — and 
numberless  mercies  from  God,  who  is  infinitely  above  being 
benefitted  by  our  services.  The  kindness  from  men,  I  can, 
therefore,  only  return  on  their  fellow  men,  and  I  can  only 
show  my  gratitude  for  those  mercies  from  God,  by  a  readi- 
ness to  help  his  other  children,  and  my  brethren.  For  I 
do  not  think  that  thanks  and  compliments,  though  repeated 
weekly,  can  discharge  our  real  obligations  to  each  other,  and 
much  less  those  to  our  Creator.  You  will  see  in  this,  my 
notion  of  good  works;  that  I  am  far  from  expecting,  as  you 
suppose,  to  merit  heaven  by  them.  By  heaven,  we  under- 
stand a  state  of  happiness;  infinite  in  degree,  and  eternal  in 
duration.  I  can  do  nothing  to  deserve  such  rewards.  He 
that,  for  giving  a  draught  of  water  to  a  thirsty  person,  should 
expect  to  be  paid  with  a  good  plantation,  would  be  modest 
in  his  demands,  compared  with  those  who  think  they  desavi 
heaven  for  the  little  good  they  do  on  earth.  Even  the  mixed 
imperfect  pleasures  we  enjoj  in  this  world,  are  rather  from 
God's  goodness,  than  our  merit;  how  much  more  such  hap- 
piness as  heaven.  For  my  part,  I  have  not  the  vanity  to 
think  I  deserve  it,  the  folly  to  expect  it,  nor  the  ambition  to 
desire  it;  but  content  myself  in  submitting  to  the  will  and 
disposal  of  that  God  who  made  me — who  has  hitherto  pre-  ' 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


served  and  blessed  me — and  in  whose  fatherly  goodness 
I  may  well  confide,  that  he  will  never  make  me  miserable — 
and  that  even  the  afflictions  I  may  at  any  time  suffer  shall 
tend  to  my  benefit. 

The  faith  you  mention  has,  doubtless,  its  use  in  the  world 
I  do  not  desire  to  see  it  diminished.  Hut  I  wish  it  were 
more  productive  of  good  works  than  1  have  generally  seen  it,  I 
mean  real  good  works;  works  of  kindness,  charity,  mercy,  and 
public  spirit;  not  holiday  keeping,  sermon  reading  or  hear* 
ing,  performing  church  ceremonies,  or  making  long  prayers, 
filled  with  flatteries  and  compliments,  despised  even  by  wise 
men,  and  much  less  capable  of  pleasing  the  Deity.  The  worship 
of  God  is  a  duly ;  the  hearing  and  reading  of  sermons  may  be 
useful;  but  if  men  rest  in  hearing  and  praying,  as  too  many 
do,  it  is  as  if  a  tree  should  value  itself  on  being  watered  and 
putting  forth  leaves,  though  it  never  produced  any  fruit. 
Your  great  master  thought  much  less  of  these  outward  ap- 
pearances and  professions  than  many  of  his  modern  disciples. 
He  preferred  the  doers  of  the  word  to  the  mere  hearers  • 
the  son  that  seemingly  refused  to  obey  his  father,  and  yet 
performed  his  commands,  to  him  that  professed  his  readiness, 
but  neglected  the  work;  the  heretical  but  charitable  Samari- 
tan, to  the  uncharitable  though  orthodox  priest  and  sanctified 
Levite:  and  those  who  gave  food  to  the  hungry,  drink  to  the 
thirsty,  raiment  to  the  naked,  entertainment  to  the  stranger, 
and  relief  to  the  sick,  though  they  never  heard  of  his  name, 
he  declares  they  shall  in  the  last  day  be  accepted,  when  those 
who  cry  Lord,  Lord,  who  value  themselves  on  their  faith, 
though  great  enough  to  perform  miracles,  but  have  neglected 
good  works,  shall  be  rejected.  He  professed  he  came  "not 
to  call  the  righteous, but  sinners  to  repentance"  which  implied 
his  modest  opinion,  that  there  were  some  in  his  time  so  good, 
that  they  needed  not  to  hear  even  him  for  improvement; 
but  now-a-days,  we  have  scarce  a  little  parson  that  does 
not  think  it  the  duty  of  every  man  within  his  reach,  to  think 
exactly  as  he  does,  and  that  all  dissenters  offend  God.  I 
wish  to  such  more  humility,  and  to  you  health  and  happt 
ness,  being 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

H.  FRANKLIN. 

What  but  the  spirit  of  immortal  love,  which,  not  content 
with  doing  much  good  in  life,  fondly  looks  beyond,  and 
feasts  on  the  happiness  that  others  are  to  derive  from  us  hng 


232 


THE  LIFE  OF 


after  we  have  ceasea  to  live  on  earth;  what,  I  ask,  but  that 
love,  could  have  dictated 

DR.  FRANKLIN'S  WILL. 

fcfc  filien  thou  makest  a  feast,  call  not  thy  rich  neighbours : 
lest  they  at  so  hid  thee  again,  and  a  recompense  be  made  thee 
hut  when  thou  makest  a  feast,  call  the  poor  ;  and  thou 
ihalt  be  blessed.    For  they  cannot  recompense  thee,  for  thou 
shalt  be  recompensed  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just. " 

Luke,  xiv. 

Sentiments  divinely  sublime! — Who,  without  emotions  in- 
describable, can  read  them!  And  jet  if  they  were  lost  from 
the  Bible,  they  might  be  found  again  in  the  Will  of  Benja- 
min Franklin. 

While  many  others  "  rise  early,  and  late  take  rest,  and 
eat  the  bread  of  labour  and  care,"  that  they  may  "  die  rich" 
— leaving  their  massy  treasures,  some  scanty  legacies  ex- 
cepted, to  corrupt  a  few  proud  relatives,  doctor  Franklin 
acted  as  though  the  above  text,  the  true  sublime  of  wisdom 
and  benevolence,  was  before  him. 

After  having  bequeathed  his  books,  a  most  voluminous  and 
valuable  collection,  partly  to  his  family,  and  partly  to  the 
Boston  and  Philadelphia  philosophical  societies;  and,  after 
having  divided  a  handsome  competence  among  h*s  children, 
and  grand  children,  he  goes  on  as  follows: 

'*  I.  Having  owed  my  first  instructions  in  literature  to  the 
free  grammar  schools  in  Boston,  I  give  one  hundred  pounds 
sterling  to  the  free  schools  in  that  town,  to  be  laid  out  in 
silver  medals  as  honorary  rewards  for  the  encouragement  of 
scholarship  in  those  schools. 

44 II.  All  the  debts  to  my  post-office  establishment,  which  1 
held  many  years,  I  leave  to  the  Philadelphia  hospital. 

4*  III.  Having  always  been  of  opinion,  that  in  democrati- 
cal  governments,  there  ought  to  be  no  offices  of  great  profit, 
I  have  long  determined  to  give  a  part  of  my  public  salary 
to  public  uses;  and  being  chiefly  indebted  to  Massachusetts, 
my  native  state,  and  Pennsylvania,  my  adopted  state,  for 
lucrative  employments,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  remember  them; 
and  having  from  long  observation,  and  my  own  early  expe- 
rience, discovered  that  the  best  objects  for  assistance  are  indi- 
gent young  persons,  and  the  best  modes  of  assistance,  a  plain 
education,  a  good  trade,  and  a  little  money  to  set  them  up: 
and  having  been  set  up  in  business,  while  a  poor  boy,  in 
Philadelphia,  by  kind  loans  of  money  from  two  friends  there, 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


233 


which  was  the  foundation  of  my  fortune  and  all  die  useful- 
ness that  the  world  ascribed  to  me,  I  feel  a  wish  to  be  use- 
ful, after  my  death,  to  others,  in  the  loans  of  money  ;  I 
therefore  devote,  from  the  savings  of  my  salaries,  the  follow- 
ing sums,  to  the  following  persons  and  uses: 

•«  1.  To  the  inhabitants  of  Boston  and  Philadelphia,  one 
thousand  pounds  sterling  to  each  city,  to  be  let  out  by  the 
oldest  divines  of  different  churches,  on  a  Jive  per  cent. interest 
and  good  security,  to  indigent  young  tradesmen,  not  bache- 
lors, (as  they  have  not  deserved  much  from  their  country 
and  the  feebler  sex,)  but  married  men. 

"  2.  No  borrower  to  have  more  than  sixty  pounds  sterling, 
nor  less  than  fifteen. 

44  3.  And  in  order  to  serve  as  many  as  possible  in  their 
turn,  as  well  as  to  make  the  payment  of  the  principal  bor- 
rowed more  easy,  each  borrower  shall  be  obliged  to  pay,  with 
the  yearly  interest,  one  tenth  part  of  the  principal ;  which 
sums  of  principal  and  interest,  so  paid,  shall  be  again  lent 
out  to  fresh  borrowers. 

B.  FRANKLIN." 

In  a  late  Boston  paper,  the  friends  of  humanity  have  read 
with  much  pleasure  that  doctor  Franklin's  legacy  to  the  in- 
digent young  married  tradesmen  of  that  town,  of  §4444  44 
cents,  is  now  increased  to  §10,902  28  cents,  after  having  been 
the  means  of  setting  up  206  poor  young  men;  besides  75 
others,  who  are  now  in  the  use  of  the  capital. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Tlie  Death  of  Doctor  Franklin. 

One  cannot  read  the  biography  of  this  great  man  without 
being  put  in  mind  of  those  sweet  though  simple  strains  of 
the  bard  of  Zion. 

"  Happy  the  man,  whose  tender  care 

Relieves  the  poor  ilistrest ; 
When  he's  with  troubles  eompass'd  round. 

The  Lord  shell  give  him  rest. 

"  If,  he  in  languishing  estate, 

Oppress'd  with  sickness,  he, 
The  Lord  shall  easy  make  his  bed, 

And  inward  strength  supply.** 

20* 


234 


THE  LIKE  OF 


The  latter  end  of  doctor  Franklu  affords  glorious  proof 
that  nothing  so  softens  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  brightens 
the  gloom  ot  the  grave,  as  a  life  spent  in  works  of  love  to 
mankind. 

See  George  Washington,  who  by  an  active  and  disinter- 
ested benevolence,  was  called  "The  Father  of  his  Coun- 
try." See  Martha  Washington,  who  by  domestic  virtues* 
and  extensive  charities,  obtained  to  herself  the  high  character 
of  "  the  Mother  to  the  Poor." — Both  of  these  found  the 
last  bed  spread  as  it  were  with  roses;  and  the  last  enemy 
converted  into  a  friend.  Such  is  the  lot  of  all  who  love;  "  not 
in  word,  but  in  deed  and  in  truth  " 

The  friends  of  doctor  Franklin  never  entered  his  chamber 
without  being  struck  with  this  precious  text, "  Mark  the  perfect 
man,  and  behold  the  upright,  for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace." 
Though  laid  on  the  bed  whence  he  is  to  rise  no  more,  he 
shows  no  sign  of  dejection  or  defeat.  On  the  contrary,  he 
appears  like  an  aged  warrior  reposing  himself  after  glorious 
victory;  while  his  looks  beaming  with  benevolence,  express 
an  air  pure  and  serene  as  the  Heaven  to  which  he  is  going. 
Death,  which  most  sick  people  are  so  unwilling  to  mention, 
was  to  him  a  favourite  topic,  and  the  sublime  conversations 
of  Socrates  on  that  great  subject,  were  heard  a  second  time, 
from  the  lips  of  our  American  Franklin,  pregnant  with 
"  immortality  and  eternal  lif  \"  No  wonder  then  that  with 
such  views  doctor  Franklin  should  have  been  so  cheerful  on 
his  dying  bed;  so  self-possessed  and  calm,  even  under  the 
tortures  of  the  gravel,  which  was  wearing  him  down  to  the 
grave.  "  Don't  go  away,"  said  he  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Colline, 
of  the  Swedes'  church,  Philadelphia,  who,  as  a  friend,  was 
much  with  him  in  his  last  illness,  and  sight  of  his  agonies 
and  cold  sweats  under  the  fits  of  the  gravel,  would  take  up 
his  hat  to  retire — "  O  no!  don't  go  away"  he  would  say, 
"don't  go  away.  These  pains  will  soon  be  over.  They 
are  for  my  good.  And  besides,  what  are  the  pains  of  a 
moment  in  comparison  of  the  pleasures  of  eternity." 

Blest  with  an  excellent  constitution,  well  nursed  by  na- 
ture's three  great  physicians,  temperance,  exercise,  anil 
cheerfulness,  he  was  hardly  ever  sick  until  after  his  seventy- 
sixth  year.  The  gout  and  gravel  then  attacked  him  with 
great  severity.  He  bore  their  excruciating  tortures  as  be- 
came one  who  habitually  felt  that  he  was  as  he  said,  in  the 
hands  of  an  infinitely  wise  and  benevolent  being,  who  did 
all  thing-s  right. 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


2*5 


His  physician,  the  celebrated  Dr.  Jones,  published  the 
following  account  of  his  last  illness. 

"'The  stone,  had  for  the  last  twelve  months  confined  him 
chiefly  to  his  bed;  and  during  the  extreme  painful  paroxysms, 
ne  was  obliged  to  take  large  doses  of  laudanum  to  mitigate 
nis  tortures— still  in  the  intervals  of  pain,  he  not  only  amused 
nimself  with  reading  and  conversing  with  his  family,  and  his 
friends  who  visited  him,  but  was  often  employed  in  doing 
business  of  a  public  as  well  as  private  nature,  with  various 
persons  who  waited  on  him  for  that  purpose,  and  in  every 
instance  displayed,  not  only  that  readiness  of  doing  good, 
which  was  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  his  life,  but  the 
fullest  possession  of  his  uncommon  mental  abilities;  and  not 
unfrequently  indulged  himself  in  those  Hashes  of  wit  and  enter- 
taining anecdotes,  which  were  the  delight  of  all  who  heard  him. 

"  About  sixteen  days  before  his  death,  he  was  seized  with  a 
pain  in  his  left  breast,  which  increased  till  it  became  ex- 
tremely acute,  attended  with  a  cough  and  laborious  breath- 
ing. During  this  state,  when  the  severity  of  his  pains  some- 
times drew  forth  a  groan,  he  would  observe,  that,  "  he  was 
afraid  he  did  not  bear  them  as  he  ought — acknowledged  his 
grateful  sense  of  the  many  blessings  he  had  received  from  the 
Supreme  Being,  who  had  raised  him  from  small  and  low 
beginnings  to  such  high  rank  and  consideration  among  men 
— and  made  no  doubt  but  his  present  afflictions  were  kindly 
intended  to  wean  him  from  a  world,  in  which  he  was  no  longer 
fit  to  act  the  part  assigned  him.  In  this  frame  of  body  and 
mind  he  continued  till  five  days  before  his  death,  when  an 
imposthumation  in  his  lungs,  suddenly  burst,  and  discharged 
a  great  quantity  of  matter,  which  he  continued  to  throw  up 
while  he  had  strength,  but,  as  that  tailed,  the  organs  of 
respiration  became  gradually  oppressed — a  calm  lethargic 
state  succeeded — and,  on  the  7th  of  April,  1790,  about  ele- 
ven o'clock  at  night  he  quietly  expired,  closing  a  long  and 
useful  life  of  eighty-four  years  and  three  months." 

Come  holy  calm  of  the  soul!  Expressive  silence  come! 
and  meditating  the  mighty  talents  of  the  dead,  and  their  con- 
stant application  to' the  glory  of  the  giver,  let  us  ascend  with 
him  on  the  wings  of  that  blessed  promise,  "  Blessed  are  the 
dead  who  die  in  the  Lord  J  even  so  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they 
i  est  from  their  labours  and  their  works  do  follow  them." 

That  Franklin  is  now  enjoying  that  rest  which  "  remaiyi- 
zth  for  the  people  of  God" — and  that  while  many  a  blood- 
stained monster,  who  made  great  noise  in  the  world,  is  fof 


236 


THE  LIFE  OF 


lowed  by  the  cries  of  thousands  of  widows  and  orphans. 
Franklin  dying  in  the  Lord,  and  followed  by  the  blessings 
of  thousands,  fed,  clothed,  educated,  and  enriched  by  his 
charities,  is  in  glory,  may  be  fairly  inferred  from  the  fol- 
lowing most  valuable  anecdote  of  him. 

Naturalists  tell  us,  that  so  great  is  the  paternal  care  of  God, 
that  every  climate  affords  the  food  and  physic  best  suited  to 
the  necessaries  of  its  population.  What  gratitude  is  due  to 
that  goodness,  which  Foreseeing  the  dangers  impending  over 
tins  country  from  British  injustice,  sent  us  two  such  protec- 
tors as  Franklin  and  Washington?  The  first,  (the  forerun- 
ner of  the  second,)  like  the  lightning  of  Heaven,  to  expose 
the  approaching  tempest;  and  the  second,  like  the  rock  of  the 
ocean,  to  meet  that  tempest  in  all  its  fury,  and  dash  it  back 
on  its  proud  assailants?  And  how  astonishing  too,  and  al- 
most unexampled  that  goodness,  which  with  talents  of  wis- 
dom and  fortitude  to  establish  our  republic,  combined  the 
cardinal  virtues  of 'jits tice,  industry,  and  economy  that  alone 
can  render  our  republic  immortal? 

Hoping  that  our  youth  may  be  persuaded  to  love  and  imi- 
p  tate  the  virtues  of  the  men  whose  great  names  they  hav  e  been 
accustomed,  from  the  cradle,  to  lisp  with  veneration,  I  have 
long  coveted  to  set  these  virtues  before  them.  The  grey 
haired  men  of  other  days,  have  given  me  their  aid.  The 
following  I  obtained  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  Helmuth,  of  the 
German  church,  Philadelphia.  Hearing  that  this  learned 
and  pious  divine  possessed  a  valuable  anecdote  of  doctor 
Franklin,  I  immediately  waited  on  him.  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  I  have  indeed  a  valuable  anecdote  of  doctor  Franklin,  which 
I  would  tell  you  with  great  pleasure;  but  as  I  do  not  speak 
English  very  well,  1  wish  you  would  call  on  David  Ritter,  at 
the  sign  of  the  Golden  Lamb^  in  Front  street;  he  will  tell  it 
to  you  better  T  hastened  to  Mr  Ritter,  and  told  him  my 
errand.  He  seemed  mightily  pleased  at  it,  and  said,  "  Yes, 
1  will  tell  you  all  I  know  of  it.  You  must  understand  then, 
sir,  first  of  all,  that  1  always  had  a  prodigious  opinion  of 
doctor  Franklin,  as  the  usefuhst  man  we  ever  had  among  us. 
by  a  long  way;  and  so  hearing  that  he  was  sick,  I  thought  I 
would  go  and  see  him.  As  I  rapped  at  the  door,  who  should 
come  and  open  it  but  old  Sarah  Humphries.  I  was  right  glad 
to  see  her,  for  I  had  known  her  a  long  time.  She  was 
of  the  people  called  Friends;  and  a  mighty  good  sort  of 
body  she  was  too.  The  great  people  set  a  hean  of  store  by 
her,  for  she  was  famous  throughout  the  town  for  nursing  and 


DR.  FRANKLIN. 


237 


tending  on  the  sick.  Indeed,  many  of  them,  I  believe,  hardly 
thought  they  could  sicken,  and  die  right  if  they  had  not  old 
Sarah  Humphries  with  them.  Soon  as  she  saw  me,  she  said, 
4  Well  David,  how  dost?' 

M  k  O,  much  after  the  old  sort,  Sarah,'  said  I;  'but  that's 
neither  here  nor  there;  I  am  come  to  see  doctor  Franklin.' 

44  4  Well  then,'  said  she,  4  thou  art  too  late,  for  he  is  just 
dead" 

44  4  Alack  a  day,'  said  I, 4  then  a  great  man  is  gone.' 

"'Yes,  indeed,'  said  she,  4  and  a  good  one  too;  for  it 
seemed  as  though  he  never  thought  the  day  went  away  as  it 
ought,  if  he  had  not  done  somebody  a  service.  However, 
David,'  said  she,  4  he  is  not  the  worse  off  for  all  that  now, 
where  he  is  gone  to:  but  come,  as  thee  came  to  see  Ben- 
jamin Franklin,  thee  shall  see  him  yet.'  And  so  she  took  me 
into  his  room.  As  we  entered,  she  pointed  to  him,  where 
he  lay  on  his  bed,  and  said,  4  there,  did  thee  ever  see  any 
thing  look  so  natural?' 

44  And  he  did  look  natural  indeed.  His  eyes  were  close — 
but  that  you  saw  he  did  not  breathe,  you  would  have  thought 
he  was  in  a  sweet  sleep,  he  looked  so  calm  and  happy.  Ob- 
serving that  his  face  was  fixed  right  towards  the  chimney, 
I  cast  my  eyes  that  way,  and  behold!  just  above  the  mantle- 
piece  was  a  noble  picture!  0  it  was  a  noble  picture,  sure 
enough!  It  was  the  picture  of  our  Saviour  on  the  cross. 

44 1  could  not  help  calling  out, 6  Bless  us  all,  Sarah!'  said 
I,  4  what's  all  this?' 

44  4  What  dost  mean,  David,'  said  she,  quite  crusty. 

44  4  Why,  how  came  this  picture  here,  Sarah  ?'  said  I,  4  you 
know  that  many  people  think  he  was  not  after  this  sort.' 

44  4  Yes,'  said  she,  4 1  know  that  too.  But  thee  knows 
that  many  who  makes  a  great  fuss  about  religion  have  very 
little,  while  some  who  say  but  little  about  it  have  a  good 
deal.' 

44  4  That's  sometimes  the  case,  I  fear,  Sarah;'  said  I. 

44  4  Well,  and  that  was  the  case,'  said  she,  4  with  Benja- 
min Franklin.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  David,  since  thee  asks 
me  about  this  great  picture,  I'll  tell  thee  how  it  came  here. 
Many  weeks  ago,  as  ne  lay,  he  beckoned  me  to  him,  and  told 
me  of  this  picture  up  stairs,  and  begged  I  would  bring  it  to 
him.  I  brought  it  to  him.  His  face  brightened  up  as  he 
looked  at  it;  and  he  said,  4  Aye,  Sarah,'  said  he,  4  there's  a 
picture  worth  looking  at !  that's  the  picture  of  him  who  came 
into  the  world  to  teach  men  to  love  one  another ."    Then  af- 


238 


THE  LIFE  OF 


ter  looking  wistfully  at  it  for  some  time,  he  said,  'Sarah,' 
said  he,  4  set  this  picture  %vp  over  the  mantlepiece,  right  before 
me  as  1  lie  ;  for  I  like  to  look  at  it,'  and  when  I  had  fixed  it 
up,  he  looked  at  it,  and  looked  at  it  very  much;  and  indeed, 
as  thee  sees,  he  died  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  it.' " 

Happy  Franklin!  Thus  doubly  blest!  Blest  in  life,  by  a 
diligent  co-working  with  "the  great  Shepherd,"  in  his 
precepts  of  perfect  love. — Blest  in  death,  with  his  closing 
eyes  piously  fixed  upon  him,  and  meekly  bowing  to  the  last 
summons  in  joyful  hope  that  through  the  force  of  his  divine 
precepts,  the  44  wintry  storms"  of  hate  will  one  day  pass 
awav,  and  one  66  eternal  spring  of  love  and  peace  encircle 
all." 

Now  Franklin  in  his  lifetime  had  written  for  himself  an 
epitaph,  to  be  put  upon  his  grave,  that  honest  posterity  might 
see  that  he  was  no  unbeliever,  as  certain  enemies  had  slan- 
dered him,  but  that  he  firmly  believed  4 4  that  his  Redeemei 
liveth;  and  that  in  the  latter  day  he  shall  stand  upon  the  earth; 
and  that  though  worms  destroyed  his  body,  yet  in  his  flesh 
he  should  see  God." 

franklin's  epitaph. 


"THE  BODY 

OF 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN,  PRINTER, 

LIKE  THE  COVER  OF  AN  OLD  BOOK, 

its  contents  torn  out, 
and  stripped  of  its  lettering  and  gilding, 
lies  here  food  for  worms* 
Yet  the  work  itself  shall  not  be  lost; 
tbi  it  will,  as  he  believed,  appear  once  more 

IN  A  NEW 

and  more  beautiful  edition, 
corrected  and  amended 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR" 

This  epitaph  was  never  put  upon  his  tomb.  But  the  friend 
t\\  man  needs  no  stone  of  the  valley  to  perpetuate  his  memo- 


DR.  FRANKLIN.  239 

ry.  It  lives  among  the  clouds  of  heaven.  The  lightnings, 
in  their  dreadful  courses,  bow  to  the  genius  of  Franklin. 
His  magic  rods,  pointed  to  the  skies,  still  watch  the  irrup 
tions  of  the  fiery  meteors.  They  seize  them  by  theii 
hissing  heads  as  they  dart  forth  from  the  dark  chambers  of 
the  thunders;  and  cradled  infants,  half  waked  by  the  sud- 
den glare,  are  seen  to  curl  the  cherub  smile  har^l  by  the  spot 
whtre  the  dismal  bolts  had  fallen. 


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condensed,  it  is  all  that  is  necessary  for  reference  purposes." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"It  has  long  stood  far  superior  to  all  similar  works  through  its  uniform  accuracy, 
exhaustive  field,  and  evident  purpose  of  the  publishers  to  make  it  as  complete  and  per- 
fect as  possible.    It  is  the  standard  of  standards." — Boston  Evening  Traveller. 


LiPPmcoTT's  Biographical  Dictionary. 

Lippincott's  Pronouncing  Dictionary  of  Biography  and  Mythology 

CONTAINS 

Memoirs  of  the  Eminent  Persons  of  all  Ages  and  Countries,  and  Accounts  of  the 
Various  Subjects  of  the  Norse,  Hindoo,  and  Classic  Mythologies,  with 
the  Pronunciation  of  their  Names  in  the  Different 
Languages  in  which  they  occur. 

BY    J.    THOMAS,    A.M.,  M.XJ. 

Complete  in  One  Volume,  Imperial  870,  of  2343  Pages.  Bound  in  Sheep,  $10.00. 


"The  most  comprehensive  and  valuable  work  of  the  kind  that  has  ever  been  at- 
tempted.   An  invaluable  convenience." — Boston  Evening  Traveller. 

"  The  most  valuable  contribution  to  lexicography  in  the  English  tongue." — Cin- 
cinnati Gazette. 

"No  other  work  of  the  kind  will  compare  with  it." — Chicago  Advance. 


FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  BOOKSELLERS. 

J.  R.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

715  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelphia.  > 


A  VALUABLE  AND  HANDY  REFERENCE  LIDRARY. 


CONTAINING 

The  Reader's  Handbook 

OF    FACTS,    CHARACTERS,    PLOTS,    AND  REFERENCES. 

New  Dictionary  of  Quotations 

FROM    THE   GREEK,    LATIN,    AND    MODERN  LANGUAGES. 


Words,  Facts,  and  Plirases. 

A    DICTIONARY    OF    CURIOUS,    QUAINT,    AND    OUT  -  OF  -  TH  E 
WAY  MATTERS. 

Worcester's  Comprehensive  Dictionary. 

)NTAINING     PRINCIPLES    OF    PRONUNCIATION,    RULES  C 
ORTHOGRAPHY,  ETC. 

Roget's  Thesaurus. 

A    TREASURY    OF    ENGLISH  WORDS. 
FTve  Volumes.  Half  Morocco.   In  clotli  box,  $12,500 


FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  BOOKSELLERS. 

J.  B.  L.IPPI1VCOTT  &  CO,,  Publishers,  Philadelphia. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBAN  A 


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